We Live As We Dream - Alone
by kataract52
Summary: The beginning of her senior year, Belle's biggest goal was getting laid on the sly, but her beau was the prince of Thieves and everyone lost their minds. A Guild story.
1. We Live As We Dream

**We Live As We Dream – Alone**

"No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one's existence – that which makes its truth, its meaning – its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream – alone."  
-Joseph Conrad

 **Chapter One**

 _They were preparing to make love. Of all the times they'd fooled around, somehow, this time was different. Belle felt it in her bones. His loving arms wrapped around her and lowered her gently to the bed. She raked her nails across his back because she knew he loved it. There were things she liked, too, but couldn't find the words to tell him. It was a thrill then when his red and black eyes vanished below the blanket and his breath caressed her thigh._

The dogs' baying woke her up.

With a groan, she pulled the pillow over her head and tried to fall back asleep. Her body tingled with desire. She needed him, she needed _it_ – but Remy was gone. He'd left. Gone on some godforsaken thieving mission all freaking summer. And he'd taken her only chance for getting laid with him. She'd probably die a virgin.

Granny opened her bedroom door and said, "Better tell the Old Man bye 'fore he goes."

It was deer season and the Old Man, Belle's grandfather, never missed a chance to kill something. He'd be gone all day, which meant another Saturday of jigsaw puzzles for Belle and Granny. She could've gone with the men, but one day of sitting in a tree with their smelly hides had been enough. Belle shot an eight-point buck her first time. They'd been so impressed, but when it came time to skin, she realized how dark its eyes were. Like Remy's.

"I'll see him later," Belle grumbled.

"But if you tell him now, he may let you go see your beau tonight."

Her head emerged. "Remy's back?!"

"On his way."

Belle leapt out of bed and pulled her clothes on. She tried to pull her hair back into a pony-tail, but the front wouldn't lay down flat. She wanted to rip it out. With thick golden hair, bright violet eyes, and unblemished skin, she knew she was beautiful. Her only concern was that she'd blossom too soon and overripe before thirty.

"You're _sure_?"

"My dreams are never wrong."

"You dream about seventeen-year-old boys now?" She grinned. "Better not tell the Old Man."

She heard the dogs leaping into the pick-up truck bed and rushed outside.

The Old Man was immediately suspicious, but couldn't resist a hug and kiss. Affection in an Assassin home was a rare treasure. It was something they all secretly cherished, and like Belle, couldn't summon the words to express it.

Julien placed the rifles in the back window. "Why didn't you put more clothes on before you stepped out?"

That comment earned him a cuff over the head. "Women-folk put time into gettin' dressed. If a woman's willin' to step out undressed it's on account of her heart. Don't you _ever_ scorn a woman's heart for her appearance!"

Julien gave Belle a look that made her stomach knot, but she pretended not to see it.

"Hurry back, guys. Nothing to do when y'all aren't here."

"Tell your grandma to give you some spendin' money. Get something for her, too. Something she wouldn't buy herself." The Old Man gave her a kiss and departed.

Belle couldn't wait to get Singer, her only girlfriend, downtown. They tried on some ballroom gowns with no intention of buying before getting down to serious business. With an armful of clothes, she slipped into a dressing room, and was half-dressed when the handle rattled.

"Occupied!" she snapped.

The door opened and Remy slipped in. His black and red eyes slid over her and a smile slowly spread over his full mouth. The things his mouth did to her...

"Remy-"

He put a finger to his lips and crossed the distance to kiss her. His hands slid across her scalp while her hands moved decidedly lower. It had been so long since she'd felt his bare skin. Her fingers didn't hesitate to slip under his pants and grab his ass. In response, his teeth latched onto her neck and made her gasp. Being with him this way made her want to explode or melt or – or – die. She didn't understand these desires.

"Did you wait for me?" he asked.

At first, she was confused. Then she remembered trying to make him stay by threatening to hook up with Harrison Camden, the star quarterback of her high school. If Remy had known _anything_ about high school dynamics, he'd know Harrison was _way_ out of Belle's league. (And dating the homecoming queen.) But he didn't. All he knew was she saw Harrison every day and that they were both attractive people. She felt a thrill of victory knowing her ploy had worked. He may have taken the job, but he suffered as much as she did in his absence.

"You're a better kisser," she whispered.

"Is that all?" His hands slipped invisibly under her shirt and unhooked her bra.

She trembled as he latched onto her nipple. Nothing in the world could feel as good as that. With great reluctance, she pulled him away. "You can't just – just _leave_ and then-"

"I _had_ to. But I'm back now and I don't ever wanna leave you again…" He fished in his pockets and produced a tiny diamond ring.

Despite dreaming of this very situation, she was terrified. He might as well have pulled out a knife. She pushed him away and bolted.

She rushed home, expecting to find Granny listening to Benny Hill and playing solitaire. Instead, her house was overrun with Assassins.

Julien shot her a nasty look. "Where've you been? With _LeBeau_?"

"LeBeau ain't even in town," the Old Man said. "You oughta be _protectin'_ your sister from slander, not startin' it."

Granny sighed, "Thank _heavens_ she's safe."

"Anybody wanna tell me what the hell's goin' on?" asked Belle.

"Sonny Moreau's been murdered," the Old Man answered. "Cops are gonna be breathin' down our necks and the Thieves will be lookin' for an excuse to attack. Strict curfews, especially for the kids." He looked at Belle. "I mean it."

"Shouldn't you be more concerned about a _murderer_ on the loose?" she said.

"Murder in New Orleans every day," he said almost proudly. "But this one wasn't sanctioned. The slayin' of a Thieves associate makes us look like animals. We're gonna find his killer and make this right before the Thieves lay blame with us."

His word was law, so whatever people's person opinions, they kept to themselves.

"Since when do _Thieves_ matter?" Except Julien, apparently. "What're they gonna do? _Rob_ us to death?"

"It matters since your sister's in love with their little prince."

Belle blushed from her hair to her toes. She wanted to melt into the floor. By acknowledging her relationship with Remy, the Old Man had practically given his blessing. Their open secret had just been promoted to confirmed scandal.

Pawns in a game.

That's all they were.

She stood like a statue until the grown-ups had hammered out a plan. Then, as they dispersed, she galloped upstairs to her room.

"Mon chou?" Granny knocked on her door. "Come now. You've got thicker skin than this. Open up."

She obeyed and unburdened her heart. It never occurred to her that her grandmother would instantly relay everything to the Old Man. Granny was her best friend, although, being seventeen, she didn't realize it yet.

"Chere," Granny said firmly, "Ain't no man on this planet gonna make you marry someone you don't wanna marry. We're Boudreaux and Boudreaux marry for _love_. Can't be _bought_ like some Thieves. Wanna marry LeBeau? Run off to Mississippi tonight. They'll marry you. Don't wanna marry him? Tell him! It's your life and no one's gonna live it except you."

"I don't know what I want."

She smiled sadly. "I think you do… I think you do."

With trembling hands and weak knees, she told the Old Man that she'd been wrong about her feelings for Remy. He dealt with her teenaged, love-sick heart the same way he dealt with everything else: practically.

"If this is some sort of _game_ …"

"No. I wouldn't do that."

"Did he hurt you?"

"He's been nothing but honorable."

"So he's not sullied you?"

" _No!_ " She cried.

He looked at his wife, who gave some indiscernible signal.

"Do you want to tell him in person? Or shall I deliver a letter?"

"I… I'll tell him."

"I've spoken with Jean-Luc and he expects his son back this evening. We'll visit tomorrow, give him time to unpack first. Belle… I would never force you into a marriage not of your choosing, but the Thieves won't take this lightly. Realize you're crossing the Rubicon. There will be no going back."

She said nothing about seeing Remy that morning. What would they think of her if she told them the truth? That she wanted his _loyalty_ and his _body_ … but not his _name_. What sort of woman did that make her?

She went to bed feeling like a soul condemned and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

"Belle?" Julien startled her. It was pitch black and she could barely see his profile. "I'm glad you've finally come to your senses."

She pulled the sheets up to her neck.

"Get out," she whispered. She hoped this was a nightmare or he was sleep-walking.

He stroked her ankle and when she pulled away, he snatched it back. Her heart hammered in her ears. Should she scream?

"You know, the Pharaohs married their sisters and were considered divine."

She slapped his hand away. "I said _leave_!"

Slowly, he walked out and shut the door behind him.

* * *

That night, another Thief was attacked. The poor man was in critical condition and the Assassins were beginning to panic. It appeared that Marius Boudreaux had a renegade in his mist and the Thieves didn't trust him to handle his own clan.

Needless to say, Belle and Remy never met that day.

She would've been glad to vanish into secret rooms with her kin and talk tactics, but she was pointedly excluded.

"They don't trust me," she said miserably. "They think I'll run and tell Remy everything."

For once, Granny wasn't sympathetic. "It's the price you pay for loving a Thief. Keep looking forlorn. In a couple weeks, pull your hair up. Pretty girl like you should have beaux linin' the streets."

"I don't _want_ a beau."

"It's the only way your grandpere will believe you're over Remy."

"There's got to be another way… I know! There's pep rally Thursday. Julien will be there, so it's okay."

"You? At a _pep rally_?"

"Maybe I'll join the cheerleading squad."

She pursed her lips. "You've lost your damn mind. He's gonna know it's just an excuse to-"

"Remy doesn't go to school," she reminded her. "I can't be in two places at once! And everyone wants to date a cheerleader… Come on, what am I supposed to do with all this extra time?"

"Study? Pray?"

" _Granny_ …"

"Let's start with the pep rally."

Contemplating her future without him sent her heart on a wild ride. Sometimes she was exuberant. Most of their time was spent with him gone on some heist while she sat at home, lonely and anxious. Then there was a perpetual undercurrent of disappointment from her clan. She was glad to lose that! But who did she have to love if not him? Who would put butterflies in her tummy? Who made her life special? Then she was awash in grief.

Better to keep busy and not dwell on her emotions.

He sent a letter asking for an explanation. Certainly, he deserved it. But before she could pen a response, life took another turn.

The Killer's second victim, Richard Seydoux, died from his injuries. Despite Assassins patrolling every corner, the villain wasn't apprehended.

Tensions returned to an all-time high.

Belle was stunned when Jean-Luc paid them a visit. Remy's father, the Thieves Guildmaster of New Orleans, was quite dashing for an old bachelor. He had a swarthy complexion, well-kept moustache, and luxurious dark hair always tied back. An impeccable dresser, he favored deep gem colors in shades of blue or green. Like a peacock.

"Why so shocked, chere?" he asked her. "I know I'm among friends here."

She looked behind him.

"No, just borin' old me," he smiled.

"Where are your manners, girl!" her grandmother chided.

"I realize things may be awkward," he said. "Rumor is you've gone cold on Remy. Me being his father, maybe you think I've come to extract some revenge. Rest assured, my heart's as devoted to you as ever, Bella Donna."

"That's enough," said Granny. "Ain't proper for you to flirt with her so."

" _Flirt_? Perish the thought, Vivien! I've been determined to have your sweet granddaughter as my daughter-in-law, and I hope she'll always think of me that way." He turned to Belle. "I hear you were sore about him leavin'. You know that was my fault."

The Old Man lazily lit a cigar. "Been to the beauty shop today, have ya?"

Luc smiled. "It's my _job_ to know everything, Marius."

Belle's stomach felt like it was full of eels. This might be her only chance to get a message to Remy, but what could she do or say in a room full of Assassins? Clenching her fists, she finally said: "Maybe your daughter-in-law… shouldn't have conflicting loyalties. Don't you want a girl you could _trust_?"

His eyes sparkled like a house cat's when a patiently observed mouse hole finally produces said rodent. "What do you think you'd be, chere? A Thief by marriage? Or an Assassin bride who could never go home again?... It is my intention to _unite_ our Guilds. You wouldn't keep secrets from anyone. You could be yourself and be – my daughter-in-law."

She bit her lip to keep from grinning and looked away.

"I think she likes the idea!" Luc boasted.

She was so happy she could've kissed him. Yes, that was it! That was why she was so repulsed by the idea of marrying Remy – because she'd always associated it with betraying her clan. But if she could have both… That's what she wanted. She wanted it with all her heart.

"Are you God now?" Marius asked dryly. "For _decades_ we've been at each other's throats. What gives _you_ the power to stop it with a word?"

"I have _faith_ , sir, and two teenagers in love prepared to move mountains in order to be together. And I believe they can do it."

If her heart had wings, she could've flown away.

All her life, Bella Donna had been just a link in a chain. Behind her were her ancestors – ahead lay her descendants. She would uphold the family tradition like everyone else. But now Jean-Luc was offering her a chance to do something _truly_ revolutionary! Unite the Guilds, bring peace to New Orleans. She could have Remy _and_ her family – she didn't have to choose!

 _Pawns,_ her mind realized, _I'm just a_ _ **pawn**_ _to him._

 _Oh, but he doesn't own_ _ **me**_ _,_ her heart replied.

And did it _matter_ that he was using her? She wanted the same thing, so maybe he was _helping_ her.

She wrote Remy a long letter and dropped it in a random mailbox on the way to school. Thank goodness she hadn't dumped him yet!

As she promised Granny, she made nice with the cheerleaders. They weren't the thoughtless clique she'd taken them for – she was ashamed of how presumptive she'd been. They gave her an audition and when she proved capable of posing _and_ spelling, she was invited to join.

Julien was genuinely pleased.

Besides getting in fights, there wasn't much he was good at. _Except_ _football_. Coach was the only authority he accepted. The repeated head injuries did nothing for his temper, but it was his _only_ chance for college and about the only good he ever did.

Now the Boudreaux siblings had a common interest. If he got a little grabby in warm-ups, that was probably her imagination. If he kept walking into the dressing room, he was just impatient to leave. For the first time since Daddy died, they had something to share. She wasn't going to let his stupid teenage hormones ruin this.

The squad was decorating for the upcoming pep rally when Harmony said, "Oh jeez, it's that creepy mutant kid."

Belle's head snapped back.

"He's not creepy," she said. "And his name's Remy."

"You _know_ him?" Delia questioned.

He kept his distance but was clearly watching them. Likewise, they were watching and not greeting him.

"Yeah, I'll introduce y'all." She crossed the football field. "Nice creeper profile, Remy. Wanna come out and meet my friends? Or are you a vampire now?"

"Cheerleaders?"

"Cheerleaders. I'd expect _you_ of all people to not judge someone by their cover."

He relaxed a little. "Sure you want me around your boyfriend?"

"Don't be a jerk. _You're_ my boyfriend."

"Am I?"

She couldn't meet his eyes.

"Got your letter," he said. "Guess Jean-Luc baited you, too. Belle… I don't give a rat's ass about the Guild. Never have. But if it's important to you, I'll play along."

"It _is_ important to me. Come meet my new friends."

He turned on that famous LeBeau charm, for which she was grateful, because she saw beneath the façade. He _loathed_ these girls. Their distain warmed to easy adoration and Belle felt ashamed of herself. If these girls couldn't tolerate a mutant, they weren't friends worth having. But they'd given him a chance and changed their opinion. Wasn't that a start? She wished they cared enough about his opinion to try to change his mind, too.

"Thanks for that," she said as she walked him to the parking lot.

"So your letter…" he said. "Who is it you wanna marry? Me? Or my family?"

" _Both_."

"My father's single. Why don't you cut to the chase?"

Her upper lip curled in disgust. "Gross!"

"Funny, that's how you looked when I gave you that ring. What's happened to you? I'm gone all summer and now that I'm home, you ain't called once. Runnin' around with the football team, joinin' the cheerleaders, tellin' everyone but me we're done. Then I get letter singin' Luc's praises sayin' you wanna marry me!"

"That's not fair."

"I thought we were _friends_ , chere, but this ain't how friends treat each other."

* * *

' _Remy,_

' _I thought about what you said. If that's how you really feel, I release you. You aren't the only boy in town. I'll hop the border and elope. The Old Man will be furious and will try to un-do it. You need to hurry and find yourself a wife. Then the Church can't_ _possibly_ _marry us, no matter what he does. Did you mean what you said? Or were you just angry?_

' _Belle'_

' _Dear Belle, don't run off with someone else. How will that solve anything?'_

' _Remy, you don't get to dump me_ _and_ _tell me what to do.'_

' _Dear Belle, when did everything get so complicated? Can we meet somewhere and talk?'_

' _Remy, when and where?'_

* * *

Saturday morning, the instant it was allowed, the phone rang. It was Questa, an Assassin boy, and he sounded depressed. When he asked Belle to come over, she left immediately. Julien and the Old Man were already gone – to hunt, she assumed. Granny was weeding the flower bed.

"Be careful, dear!" she called from under her wide-brimmed straw hat.

"I'm _always_ safe and careful," Belle waved as she rode off.

'Careful' was the name of the dagger strapped to her thigh. 'Safe' was the revolver in her bicycle basket.

Apparently, Questa carried neither, because he answered the door with a bloody nose. One of his fingers was broken, too. Tears filled his black eyes once she laid him on the couch and took charge.

"Why didn't you call Tante Mattie?" She asked. In the kitchen, she made two ice packs and wrapped them in hand towels.

"I didn't want her to tell my folks."

"Where are they?"

"Old Man's had them on rotating shifts. They haven't seen me."

She pressed the ice packs to his eyes and exchanged the bloody tissue for a clean one. "Thieves?"

"Yeah." He exhaled a jagged breath.

"Did you see their faces?"

"No. They were too quick."

She gathered the first-aid kit and set his broken finger. His nose had finally stopped bleeding; she didn't think it was broken. With trepidation, she asked the unavoidable question.

"What were you doin' out after curfew?"

He took an uneasy breath, swallowed, and said, "Belle… You ever feel like… You've got the wrong body?"

She shook her head.

"Well, _I_ do. I hate it. I hate what it _does_. How it _looks_. So at night, I get to pretend. It's dark and where I go, no one knows boy-Questa."

"You're a _tranny_?"

He shrugged.

"The Guild can't find out about this…" The solution seemed obvious, but at the same time, so painful. "We'll tell them you were coming over to _my_ house… but the Thieves got you first."

Surprise and relief washed over his face. "You sure? Your brother's gonna want my head."

" _Everyone_ will want your head if the _truth_ comes out!"

"Thank you… Belle… I'll make this up to you one day. I promise… But what about Remy?"

* * *

Another Thief murdered.

The papers called him 'the French Quarter Killer'.

Belle's grandfather was distraught. After an emergency meeting, she waited for him, but he never left his library. Finally, she went in.

Silently covering his face, he reached out for her hand. She wondered if he'd mistaken her for Granny.

"If your father lived," he mumbled, "this never would've happened…"

Her bottom lip trembled but she refused to cry. He needed her _strength_ , not her _tears_.

"What'd the clan say?" she asked.

"They're callin' for my abdication."

She gasped.

"I don't dare leave it with Julien, but…"

"What about me?"

He didn't look thrilled. "Did _Jean-Luc's_ put that in your head?"

"No, listen – someone's targetin' Thieves. Remy and I were supposed to meet Tuesday night. I'll leave him there until the Killer shows. Whoever's doin' this, they're no match for me."

"I'll call a meeting for every Assassin in the city," he said thoughtfully, "You set your trap. But don't risk your life for that boy. I'll know who it is by whoever's missin'. I wish I could send a man with you, but there's none I can trust."

Of course, Julien would keep her safe, but he couldn't be trusted with a secret.

"What about Luc?" she asked.

He sat up. "Yes… Yes, that might be prudent."

"Whoever he is, he'll pay with his life."

The plan wasn't unprecedented. The Old Man had been lowly born and only won his position by rescuing Granny and saving her clan forty years earlier. Why couldn't Belle do the same? She'd rescue Remy and save their clans; then nothing could stop them from marrying. Sure, there was a little rumor about her and Questa, but it had mostly gone away. The Assassins weren't _keen_ to gossip, and the Thieves knew the truth. In fact, Remy _never_ brought it up in their secret letters, which cemented her suspicions. She wished he'd confide the name of Questa's attackers... Surely he'd not been involved _himself_?

Through these correspondents, he said how much he missed her, but couldn't risk going to her house. So she asked him to name a place where they could meet. After a few days to arrange his "escape", they had a solid plan.

Sweet Treat Candy Shop.

Then she watched from the south; Luc from the north.

How long since they'd actually _seen_ each other? The parking lot fight happened three weeks prior. She wanted so badly to go to him, to hear his voice, and feel his embrace – but until now, she'd been pretending to fancy Questa. And if the Killer saw her nearby tonight, he wouldn't strike.

So she waited and watched.

And waited.

Remy finally decided she wasn't coming.

She couldn't let him leave. Anxious, she rushed into the closed candy store. How many times had they robbed this place blind? Enough for her to associate the smell of caramel with him.

"Sorry I'm late," she whispered.

He lifted her off her feet, pulling the full weight of her body against his. "That's what you girls do, ain't it? Keep us waitin'."

"Oh, this old thing?" she pretended to sneer at her outfit.

"I wanna apologize. Luc did was he does best and I blamed you for it. God knows he's manipulated folks smarter than you into doin' worse."

"He didn't _manipulate_ me! All he did was explain that marryin' you didn't mean abandonin' my clan."

He smiled bitterly. "So if the Old Man threatened to throw you out, you wouldn't marry me? Good to know."

"It ain't like that! My grandfather's sixty-five and agin' every day. Julien's completely off his rocker! Who's gonna lead them if not me? Your father's two-hundred-years-old in a forty-year-old body with two perfectly sane sons. You think love is sacrifice? What're you riskin' for me?"

"Nothin'. You know no one wants me here. Feelin's mutual. Now all a sudden, they're in a hurry to bind us. That doesn't seem _suspicious_ to you? Why they wanna box us in?"

"Marriage… isn't… a _prison_ sentence…"

The front door blew open and a black figure cut through the shadows. Remy snatched a nearby box of chocolates and threw them at the figure. There was an explosion of light and wrappers, and she used the advantage to throw a knife at the man. He screamed – his _scream_ … His familiarly broad shoulders tackled Remy like a target on the football field. With an invisible knife in her heart, she pulled an enormous skinning blade and plunged it in his back.

"You stupid little slut!" he roared. With inhuman strength, he throttled her neck and launched her across the room.

Disoriented and confused, she saw Jean-Luc swoop in and chase off the figure in black.

Remy made to follow, but then stopped and knelt by her side.

"Are you hurt?"

It wasn't a _physical_ pain that crippled her so.

When she realized Luc would pursue him until he bled to death or killed his pursuer, she leapt up.

"We've gotta stop 'em!"

They followed the trail of blood to the two men sparing. Luc was quick – but the Killer was quicker. He swept-kicked, knocking Luc off his feet, but as his blade came down, Remy's staff blocked his father's face. Sparks flew. Belle leapt on the Killer's back, stabbing his shoulders repeatedly. She heard him sob, but that didn't stop his blade from hacking her legs. Blood loss made him weak. As he staggered to his knees, the Thieves made to end him.

"Stop!" she said. "Let him go."

"He won't get far," said Luc. "Help me bind her legs, son. We'll get her to Tante Mattie."

Her wounds bled but didn't hurt. If anything, the stinging sensation felt… oddly pleasurable. Perhaps this was what an injury deserved felt like.

She imagined him returning home – where every Assassin was gathered. He'd be gushing blood. In short time, they'd all know why. Would Granny weep? Would the Old Man finish him off? Her own brother… The French Quarter Killer.

…

 _To Be Continued…_

…


	2. The Heart of Darkness

"We penetrate deeper and deeper into the heart of darkness."  
-J. Conrad

 **Chapter Two: The Heart of Darkness**

The LeBeau men didn't stay with her at Tante Mattie's. Remy _wanted_ to, but Luc insisted. If an Assassin saw them together – and her in such a state – he would not bother asking questions. A magical salve sealed her skin, but it was too dangerous to leave until dawn. She watched through Mattie's warped-glass window as the stars inched across the sky and the sun scrubbed away the night. There was no phone to call home. All night long, Belle's imagination terrorized her with what she didn't know.

Julien was dying.

Julien was dead.

Julien… Julien…

Looking back, she couldn't recall a single fond memory of him. He'd once broken her nose, set her hair on fire, and now bullied her friends so badly that the squad never invited her to parties or sleepovers. Why did she still love him? Why was her heart breaking? Was she insane, too?

The next morning when Belle returned home, Granny praised God but didn't cry. The old lady was stronger than Belle gave her credit for.

"Julien?" she managed.

"Just returned. All the menfolk were out lookin' for you last night."

"That… can't be."

"They found the Killer last night. Stabbed to death. In the French Quarter. _Mon chou_ , we thought he got you, too!"

The Old Man and Julien were breakfasting. Like nothing had happened. Her brother wore a black turtleneck and moved stiffly while her grandfather avoided her eyes. Had he known all along? Had he sent her out for Julien to murder? And she'd been so _proud_ to help him!

"Who'd you kill?" she breathlessly asked.

Granny gasped and the Old Man flinched, but Julien only smiled.

"Where were you last night?" he asked.

"I wasn't the only one who saw you. They know." She stood rigid with righteousness but her insides felt like jelly.

Julien flipped the table over and tackled her to the floor. With a vice-like grip, he strangled her already-bruised neck. Her head throbbed painfully and her vision darkened. Granny beat Julien's head with a tea kettle, but it did no good. He was tenacious. The Old Man struck him with a cattle-prod. Electricity shot through his marrow and his hands loosened. _Again_. Julien screamed the slumped on the floor. Granny helped Belle stand, but the Old Man wasn't finished. _Again_. His stitches tore and he bled on the carpet. _Again_. His bowels turned to water.

" _Stop it!_ " she screamed.

"I've invested _too much_ in this clan," the Old Man said. "I won't see it torn apart by _you_ two."

Confused, she watched him retreat to his library while her brother twitched helplessly on the floor.

* * *

"Bella Donna."

"Jean-Luc."

He didn't appear surprised to see her, although she'd never come alone before. Not even in secret.

"I hear they found the French Quarter Killer," he said.

"That's what they said… Is Remy here?"

Her too-cool-for-school boyfriend galloped down the stairs and swept her up again. With a kiss, tranquility washed away the nightmarish confusion and powerlessness.

"Would you like to see the place?"

Luc made himself scarce while Remy gave her a tour. It was adorably lacking in female accessories, but that only encouraged her to imagine how she'd change things once they were married. He took her on the quickest route to his bedroom and kicked the door shut.

It was a far cry from her four-poster bed with down-feather comforter surrounded by children's trinkets left to her by her father. Remy's room was stark. The flat mattress held a worn quilt and the walls were lined with books she'd never read. Some of them she'd never even heard of. Everything smelled like _him_.

She was thrilled to be so boldly breaking the rules.

"You don't have a dresser?" she asked.

"I have a closet. You don't hang your clothes?"

"Some of them. But not everything fits, so it goes in the dresser."

He smiled. " _Femmes_. Have a seat."

She sat tensely on his bed corner. "If we're not going to marry, I probably shouldn't be here."

"I've known since I was pup that I was gonna marry you one day." He took her hand. "But it was my decision and yours. If and when. They've taken that away and you… you _let_ them."

"Why does it matter? We're still getting what we want."

"I don't know, it just _does_. But I can't fight them _and_ you. I _need_ you. This summer's been the worst of my life and thinkin' about you's the only thing that kept me goin'."

"I missed you, too."

He leaned close and whispered, "I wanna tell you about… my heist."

"Do you think you _should_?"

"I can't tell anyone else. Even Luc doesn't know."

She leaned over so her ear sat before his lips. When he spoke, the air tickled seductively.

"There's a lab in Canada. They kept people in water tubes. For experiments. I think… They were mutants."

"And Luc sent _you_ there?" she whispered softly.

"He didn't know."

"It's his _job_ to know everything! He said so himself!" She hugged him close. "If anyone ever hurts you, I'll _kill_ them. _Slowly_."

"I was supposed to steal a book," he continued. "And I got it, but… Belle, you can't tell anyone this. _Ever_."

She nodded.

"I destroyed it so what happened there will never happen again."

Furious, she dug her nails into his arms. "Don't _ever_ endanger your life like that again! Mon Dieu, what if someone _saw_ you?"

"They didn't."

"But what if they _did_? You've seen what they can do. What makes you think they can't find you?"

"That's why I keep _you_ around."

She smiled weakly. "Look, I wanna do good things, too, and we can. But we're not _heroes_. There's no shame in that, but if you start sticking your neck out now, you're gonna draw the wrong attention to us."

"My life's not worth more than theirs."

"Yes, it is! No one _cared_ about them or they wouldn't _be_ there. But _you_ have _me_! How can you _say_ that?"

He held her close. "Maybe I'm not cut out for this."

"You are. You _have_ to be," she said firmly, thinking: _'Or else my family won't let us marry.'_

He asked to see her legs. The wounds had healed into shiny, pink lines that crisscrossed up her calves. His fingertips gently touched them. Then his lips followed. It was a sin for his kisses to be so delightful.

She pulled off her shirt and then his. Bare, their chests fit together like a broken stone. Nothing in the history of the world had ever felt as pure and right as their naked embrace. When she pressed her stomach against his, a bolt of pleasure shot to her groin and he had to rearrange his pants.

"Can you take them off?" she asked.

Lowering his eyes, he obliged her. First his pants and then his boxers pooled at his feet. She'd never seen a naked man before. His slender frame appeared disproportionate to his erection, which bobbed up and down as if it were waving 'hello'.

She smiled, "Come lay with me."

They lay down together, side by side, and resumed kissing. His bare bottom felt even better beneath her hands and she wanted… What did she want?

"If I take off my pants," she said, "We can't do it."

"Lady's choice."

She kept her eyes lowered too as she squirmed out of her shorts and panties. She bore no obvious sign of her arousal – a naked woman doesn't look much different than a covered one. Nonetheless, he looked pleased.

With a new energy, he pulled her on top of him. She held the dominate position, but straddling him left her feeling vulnerable. True to his word, he didn't take advantage of her. Instead, his fingers gravitated to the sweet center between her thighs. His touch had never been clumsy. He was always sure how to please her, even the first time. Luckily, he was astute to the tiny changes in her body because she would _never_ have had the courage to tell him what she enjoyed. He just _knew_.

Since her knees were forced to part for his lap, she couldn't shut him out when things got too intense. She had to _feel_ it. He piled pleasure atop pleasure and she couldn't stop herself from groaning. Her pelvis rolled against his. She never thought about how to move. If she had, she would've been mortified. But he'd locked something deep and primal and her body knew how to respond, just as he'd known how to unlock her.

He could've taken her. She wouldn't have been angry. Between them, his erection throbbed painfully, but he didn't dare touch himself. The heat from her sex beckoned him, and without thinking, his weeping member kissed her opening. Hunger gripped her lower belly. She trembled all over and he waited for her to slide down. Thrusting up would've been so easy… so right… But he'd given his word.

 _Lady's choice._

She tensed, gasped his name, and then shuttered with a groan.

"Did you do it?" he asked. "Did you get off?"

"I think so. That was... wow…" She couldn't catch her breath.

He rolled over so she could lie down and rest. Bella Donna Boudreaux. Naked. In his bed. Shaking off an orgasm _he'd_ given her. In disbelief, he reached down and stroked himself.

She opened her eyes. "What're you doing?"

"What I did for you."

She licked her lips. "Can I help?"

A little too eagerly, he moved her hand to his member and showed her how to touch him.

"It won't be like yours," he said. "It's messier."

"How messy?"

"Don't stop, okay?"

This was _significantly_ different with an audience. She wasn't exactly the sultry vixen he imagined, either, but more like a confused kitten weary of knocking on a door. When he finally finished, she flinched a little, but carried him through.

"It's sticky," she remarked.

They spent all day in his bedroom talking. He was always reading and talking and questioning things and, unlike Belle's family, Jean-Luc encouraged his rebellious behavior. Remy looked at things like no one else and she loved that. Unlike everyone else, Belle hadn't locked her mind into a particular pattern. She didn't blindly follow or reject, but listened to everything he had to say. She asked thoughtful questions and then chewed it over before drawing her own conclusions. Contributing to her outlook was rewarding and he loved it. No doubt, it was what Luc loved, too. Remy wanted to warn her about his father, but if he used her trust to conform her, he'd be no different from everybody else. He didn't want to change what he loved about her but… he wished she'd learn to draw some boundaries.

Before they knew it, it was three o'clock. Her family would expect her soon. She wasn't ready to go home, but couldn't get caught at Remy's house, either.

* * *

 _St. Agnes's Home for the Criminally Insane  
Baton Rogue_

In New Orleans, it was called simply "the home". It was where her mother lived.

"Louisa May Boudreaux," she told the front desk. "Which room is hers?"

Belle knew her mother wouldn't recognize her – it'd been years since they'd met – but she did remember her. Supposedly, Louisa had once been a great beauty. She'd also been a great drunk. Yet another reason for Julien's _winning_ personality. When Louisa's in-laws heard she was pregnant again, they chained her to a bed for ten months. She still had the scars to prove it, but at least Belle was born fully formed, which was more than anyone could say for her brother.

When Belle introduced herself, Louisa wailed and carried on about how she'd lost her baby. Belle waited it out. She wasn't about to offer comfort to this woman who'd never given _her_ anything. Simpering, she crawled back and wiped away her tears.

"I wanna know when it started," Belle said. "The drinkin'."

"I never touched a drop of alcohol in all my life! That's a lie!"

"Then what happened to your teeth?"

"My husband knocked 'm out! Him and his daddy! Hateful old devil!"

 _Lies._ Marius was the kindest, most gentle father who ever lived, and Belle wouldn't stand to hear him slandered. Livid, she stood.

"Don't leave me!" she wailed, "I can't lose you! I done lost my momma and my husband and my babies! You gotta get me outta here, Pixie!"

"My name ain't _Pixie_. It's Bella Donna."

"Oh, that's a _stupid_ name!"

She stormed towards the exit, Louisa clinging to her legs and laying dead-weight on the hospital floor.

"I'm sorry! _I'm sorry!_ Please, I'll tell ya what ya wanna know!"

"The drinking," Belle said. "How old were you when it started?"

"Not till I was twenty-five. _After_ my son was born, thank you very much! My husband was always _shoutin'_ at me and I couldn't cope. In-laws caught me takin' a nip _once_ and-" she pretended to sob again, "-and they chained me to the bed! I thought I was gonna _lose_ you, Pixie! I screamed and screamed but… but wouldn't no one help!"

"Chainin' you up was the only thing that saved my life! _Alcohol_ ain't your problem. It's not Daddy's family, either. You were messed up long before you touched a bottle. Weren't you? Well, guess what? Julien's messed up _just like you_. The only way you could've saved him was to stop lying to yourself and let these doctors sort you out. But it's too late now. He's gonna be right here beside you!"

* * *

"Belle?" Granny said, "Where you been?"

The Old Man and Julien were missing.

"They called a meeting." She realized. She rushed past her grandmother into the study and came face-to-face with a score of Assassins.

They all turned to her.

"How nice of you to join us," her grandfather said, extending his hand.

She joined him in front of the assembly.

"As you know, the clans have called for my resignation," he said. "I abdicate to my granddaughter. Bella Donna. You would like to speak before the vote?"

Every word flew from her mind. It was like all the cogs in her brain jammed up. Who would know what to say? Jean-Luc. He was never short of words. What would he say? What would he say?

"We find ourselves in difficult times," she said. "I'm young… But I'm willing to learn. And I will dedicate everything I have to the service of our clan."

They were clearly left wanting.

"Short and sweet," he smiled tightly.

If they'd expected her to beg for it, they had the wrong person. They voted in her favor and she was left feeling a little dizzy.

"Thank you, gentlemen," she said. "My first order is to reveal the so-called French Quarter Killer. The police think they have their man, but we know this is not the case. The man stabbed to death was a patsy. He was _not_ an Assassin, and therefore could _not_ be the murderer. That man is in this very room and I intend to see him punished."

The Old Man went pale. "Let's not be hasty, child."

" _Four men_ have died so that my grandfather looked weak and foolish! _Four men_ died to provoke Jean-Luc LeBeau and his sons into retaliation!"

Julien slowly retreated to the door.

"He may not have literally stabbed you in the back, but he signed your death warrants with his betrayal! That man is none other than _my own brother!_ "

He had vanished.

They blanketed the city and had neighboring clans close the state lines, but the Gulf was open to the South and he could hide in the swamps for weeks. Months if he wanted to. She'd wanted to get the Thieves involved, but the clan vetoed it. They argued that the Thieves might "accidently" kill him in the capture. At the time, she agreed, but when he was still missing the following night, she regretted the decision.

The Old Man wasn't speaking to her.

Granny held out hope that the clan would only banish him.

Belle didn't think she could sleep, but once she lay down, she couldn't stay awake.

She was suddenly cold. Her arms were tossed over her head and something sharp pierced her breast. In a haze, she watched Julien tie her wrists to the headboard. She kicked him away and screamed. He backhanded her, struggled to grab her knees, and entombed them beneath his own. While his face was bent over hers, she lunged for his jugular and his screams echoed painfully in her ears.

Meanwhile, the Old Man managed to break down her door. He landed a fist on Julien's stab wound and the injured man flung himself out the window.

Belle pulled her hands free while Granny sobbed. Pulling a sheet over herself, she stood and declared: "Call the Thieves… Or I'll call the cops."

They stared blankly.

"I'll be dead in my grave before I ask for _Jean-Luc's_ help," the Old Man hissed.

"He's a _murderer_! And a _rapist_! And _you_ can't stop him!"

Granny sobbed loudly.

" _You_ wanted to lead the clan," he said accusingly. " _You_ stop him."

* * *

Belle had been thrown to the wolves. The adults wouldn't listen to her. The Old Man didn't even show up. Humiliated, she took Questa and Singer – the only ones who followed her – to join the Thieves. She'd never seen Remy in his work uniform before. He looked incredible in his black and pink body glove, and a shiver of pleasure trembled through her.

He smiled knowingly.

"He's been hidin' in the bayou," said Jean-Luc. "I hate t' split up, but it's the quickest way t' cover ground. Here, take these." He handed out tiny remote-control devices. "We'll go in pairs. When you get his track, press this and the rest of us will be alerted to your location. If that's acceptable to _you_ , Miss Boudreaux."

She smiled gratefully. "He's strong. _Vicious_. I want an Assassin with each Thief for protection."

Singer tossed her hair, "And I suppose _Remy_ will be _your_ partner?"

"No worries, petite," Remy said, "Jean-Luc can keep you company."

"Does this count as a date?" Belle asked as they began their track.

"Depends if you _kiss_ me or not."

They continued into the dark. Every animal sound made her hair stand on end.

"I hate the bayou," she said.

"Not so bad durin' the day."

"Ain't the dark that scares me. It's _spiders_."

"Wanna know what I'm afraid of?"

"What?"

"It's a secret," he motioned her closer and whispered, "Julien's been trackin' us since we left. Act offended and shove me on the ground. He'll attack."

She gasped, leaned back, and slapped him.

Sure enough, when Remy fell, Julien rushed out of the shadows. She thought he'd attack Remy since he was in a weakened position, but he didn't. Remy tried to trip him, but Julien flipped over his feet and slashed a blade at her. She leapt back, pulled out her knife-

" _Stop!_ " Remy shouted.

Amazingly, Julien froze.

The Thief walked to her and slowly lowered her knife. Her brother mirrored her.

Gazing deeply into Julien's eyes, Remy said: "You're comin' home with us."

He nodded.

"And you won't put up a fight."

He nodded.

All of the agony she'd been internalizing concentrated on her belly. Like the menstrual cramp from hell. She felt wet.

The sight of blood on Julien's knife made her faint.

* * *

It was daytime when she woke up. Her room had been cleaned top to bottom, and someone had moved the carousel music-box from her father for her eighth birthday – the last one day of his life. When she looked around for it, she saw Tante Mattie sitting by the window.

"Ah, good morning, child!"

"What're you doin' here?"

"How you feelin'?" Tante Mattie felt her forehead for signs of fever.

"Cramps. Bad cramps… Julien…"

A long, ugly scar lined her once flawless flat tummy.

"Your brother felt terrible 'bout what he done," said Tante Mattie. "Carried ya straight to me! He offered his life, but your granddaddy saw he's sick like his momma. He's gone to the home."

She traced the scar from her belly button to her pubic hair. "I'll never have children."

"I – you – we don't know that."

"I want to see my grandfather."

"No. You'll get upset. You need to rest."

"OLD MAN!" She shouted harshly.

Tante Mattie started.

"GRANNY! OLD MAN!"

Granny rushed in and told her to calm down.

"Is it true? You've sent Julien to the home?"

"The clan voted," said the Old Man. "It's done. Before you harm yourself any further, you should know how sorry he was. Out of his mind. It ain't right… what he did… But killin' him wouldn't make it any better. Seein' as how he's the last chance this family has to continue… Killin' him would only make it worse."

Her mouth fell open. "So he deprived me of my own family… And you're gonna let _him_ live because he's deprived _me_?"

"It's _done_."

"Who suggested it?"

"That's none of your concern. Until you're twenty-one, I still lead this family. I'll tell you what you need to know."

Furious tears made her tremble. "I thought... I was _helping_ you… I thought… we were a team." She couldn't stop her lips from quivering, so she turned her face. "Does Remy know?"

Silence.

"I ASKED YOU A QUESTION!" She roared, no longer caring how she looked. She'd lost everything. _Everything_. "I WANT REMY! WHERE IS HE?!"

"Stop," said Granny, "You'll harm-"

"WHERE IS HE?!"

"STOP!" The Old Man shouted back. When she wouldn't obey, he smashed her father's music box and the pink tea-set from her sixth Christmas. Granny ran from the room. He threw Belle's clothes out her window and threatened to throw her, too.

"You couldn't lift me if you tried!" she hissed. "Here! Let me help you!"

She leapt out of bed and he yanked her arm back.

"Your life belongs to _me_! You live how _I_ say! And you don't die until _I_ say so!"

It was the most ludicrous thing she'd ever heard! And he thought he'd _scare_ her with it! She laughed. Couldn't stop! He shook her violently, but still she laughed. Enraged, he threw her on the bed and stormed out, the sound of her mother's laughter resounding rebelliously.

…

 _To Be Continued…_

…

 **Author's Note:** I've adjusted Belle's family structure a little. Here, both her father and grandfather are named Marius. Obviously, I've killed her father and stuck her mother in a home. In the comics, her mother's never been mentioned, and her father was her primary guardian. I felt my amendments would 1) explain her family's dysfunctional overprotectiveness and 2) add a layer of tragedy to her character. Julien really was dubbed "the French Quarter Killer", but I took some liberties with the details of his killing spree. And teenaged Remy really did break into the Weapon X facility on a heist.


	3. We Live in the Flicker

"…Like a running blaze on a plain, like a flash of lightning in the clouds. We live in the flicker."  
-J. Conrad

 **Chapter Three: We Live in the Flicker**

Remy kissed her scar and said, "I don't love you for our future, hypothetical kids. I love you for _you._ And that'll _never_ change."

An emotion like weeping swelled in her heart. If she hadn't banished all her tears, she might shed a few for him… He was so dear… But all of her tears had been locked away in her heart where they soured. Never again would she hug or kiss the Old Man; never again would she share another secret with Granny; never again would she declare with pride "that's my brother!" whenever Julien scored a touch-down.

Jean-Luc never _said_ so, but she got the impression he didn't like this new Bella Donna.

The only one who never wavered in his devotion was _Remy_.

"That night in the swamp," she asked one afternoon, "How'd you get Julien to listen?"

"It's a power."

"Like your eyes?"

"That's a mutation."

"What's the difference?"

He smiled. "Girls _like_ my voice, that's the difference."

She allowed herself a laugh. "I love your eyes. That's what makes you _you_. I don't know how I'd feel about you if they were… _normal_."

"Then I'd seduce you with my voice."

"Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Seduced me with your charm power?"

"No… I tried. But it doesn't work on you."

"How do you know?"

He leaned in close. "Take off your top… See? I have no power here."

"Stop it. You have _all_ the power over me." She placed his hand over her heart. "Feel that? It beats for you. Without you, I'd be dead."

His kiss stole her breath.

Luc was gone, but he'd never interrupted them before. However, knowing he couldn't overhear emboldened their already reckless abandon. Nothing would ever feel as natural as this. They were as innocent as Adam and Eve in the Garden, and although they didn't realize it at the time, they were about to lose that purity.

Belle couldn't get close enough to him, but he kept pulling away. She wanted that feeling again – of his cock pressed against her.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

She nodded, not thinking. Then she felt him – hard and pulsing and pushing his way inside. She could've stopped him, but she didn't want to. Her knees spread further. This time, he struck against her hymen and the stabbing pain was unbearably divine. She lifted off the mattress and heard him gasp. The bolt of ecstasy that gripped them left him weak and panting.

She didn't care if the sex was awkward and brief. There would be time to improve. The notion of judging him was profane. He was her dearest love, her best friend, her missing half… And he was giving her all the broken, incomplete bits of himself while accepting all her lunacies. They'd never be themselves again. Ever after, she carried a piece of him; and he, a piece of her.

* * *

The following months passed in a haze. She was vaguely aware that things happened - hunting season closed; homecoming and Thanksgiving occurred – but Belle and Remy existed in a warm cocoon of love. She spent as much time as possible at his house. And now that Julien was gone, he easily snuck into her bedroom. The Old Man's right-hand-man, Gris-Gris, caught him once. He would've beaten the tar out of him, but Remy got away.

Marriage negotiations were finalized.

* * *

Remy was one of those unfortunate souls born between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Everyone, including his family, tended to forget.

"They're not big gift-givers," he said with a shrug.

Belle never forgot. And this year, neither did they. She was the first to suggest a party, but they quickly latched onto the idea.

"Eighteen's a milestone," Luc said.

" _Every year's_ a milestone when you've got a death-wish like Remy," said Henri.

Remy saw her bewildered expression and explained: "It's a tract of passage… You know, like a final exam. Then I'll be a full-fledged Guild member."

She didn't know what he was talking about, but she knew it meant another heist. "When do you leave?"

"I'll be here for Christmas. But I'll miss your birthday. _Again_. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Luc cut in. "It's an investment in _both_ your futures."

"Stop thinkin' like an old man and remember what it's like to be seventeen and in love," snapped Mercy. While she cut the cake and plated the slices, Luc chewed his pipe thoughtfully.

"I can write you," Remy said, "Unless… you'll be gone for your birthday, too."

"In _February_?" She laughed, "I doubt it!"

Mercy handed out the plates and poured tiny glasses of brandy. "That's right, chere, you'll miss Valentine's Day."

Her husband pulled her on his lap. "Who needs a holiday?"

Laughing, she struggled in vain against his kisses.

Belle's gift was the only one. She thought he'd been modest, but no, his family really hadn't brought any gifts. Luckily, it was a big one – an autographed football jersey for New Orleans' Saint Quarterback, Aaron Brooks. Remy went boneless and bloated simultaneously. He was genuinely thrilled and she felt insanely proud of herself.

"How'd you _get_ this?" he finally said.

She shrugged. "I waited outside the stadium after a game. How else?"

Yes, she waited outside because she knew a guy had already pulled all the strings to get a jersey autographed. Then she smacked him around a little, stole his prize, and spent all night shadow-boxing it herself. But he didn't need to know the unpleasant details…

When she got home that night, she asked Granny about the "tract of passage".

"Oh, _that_!" she replied dismissively. "Eighteen's the _minimum_ age, not the dead line. You're not ready."

"And whose fault is _that_?"

"You're only young once, my dear. _Enjoy_ _it!_ Boys like Remy who are forced to grow up too soon are never whole. But I'm not surprised. Him being _adopted_ , he has more to prove."

"Really? You're not over-protecting me because my father's gone?"

Granny smiled sadly. "From the mouths of babes…"

* * *

On Christmas, Granny and the Old Man went to visit Julien at the home. Belle refused to go. She refused to read his letters or write him, and there was nothing her grandparents could do to move her.

The added benefit, of course, was that she and Remy had the place to themselves. Sex in an empty house was a rare treasure. She could be loud; they could take their time and experiment. And there was a _lot_ to learn.

When it came to orgasms, their motto was "ladies first", although it didn't always happen. He enjoyed hours-long foreplay but it drove her nuts. In a bad way. He also got super creative with positions, although there was only a handful that she enjoyed. Sometimes she wondered where he got these wild ideas, but she didn't ask. She didn't have anyone to discuss these things with. All her friends were virgins and she didn't dare tell the old ladies she was having pre-marital sex… So they pioneered their own sex life.

"I don't see how tyin' me up's gonna be more exciting," she said, running the silk cords through her hands. At least they wouldn't chafe.

"Give it a try. You don't like it, I can untie you. Nothin' ventured, nothin' gained. What's the word?"

"Red," she replied.

"I love you," he said sweetly before pulling her into a breathless kiss. He pulled away, his face suddenly stern. "Undress."

"Let me shut the-"

"I said _undress_ ," he snapped, voice sharp as a whip.

Shivering, she obeyed. He didn't immediately touch her, but looked her over in silent approval. It was impossibly erotic.

"Bend over and grab the bed. I'm goin' to tie your hands. Then I'm gonna spank you until you beg for me. Understand?"

She nodded.

"I didn't hear you," he barked.

"Yes, sir."

He softly kissed her. "Good girl. Now turn around."

She wasn't afraid. She knew by now that she enjoyed getting spanked. (Really, she liked getting hit _anywhere_.) But her body reacted as if she feared him. Her skin pebbled with goosebumps and her knees shook so badly that she had to press them together just to stand. For a long time, he did nothing. She turned her head to look for him and he yanked her hair back.

"Who told you to move?"

His hand came down across her bottom, making her flinch. Every slap stung, but not as much as it should have. She felt more sympathy for his hand than her derriere… Why hadn't they thought to bring a paddle? Then he could _really_ beat her.

Her nipples throbbed; her sex burned. Why wouldn't he touch her there and ease her suffering? She was shocked to hear herself sob: "Please! Remy, _please_!"

He took her hard. Her ass and scalp stung; her engorged pleasure zones ached; and her bones rattled violently. All the pain spiraled inside her tighter and tighter until she snapped from exquisite agony, screaming and shaking. He wasn't far behind.

The domineering task master faded and her attentive lover returned, tenderly wiping her tears.

"D'you enjoy that?" he asked.

She nodded. "I wouldn't want that _all_ the time but... Next time, we should use a paddle."

His smile was so wide she saw his molars. "Je t'amie, chere."

After a shower, they snuggled together, her head resting on his chest. She didn't have a TV in her room, so she played a new CD. Well, new for _them_. It was a punk band called 'Gang of Four' and if Granny had heard it, she would've had a fit.

' _To crack the shell we mix with the others  
Some flirt with fascism  
Some lie in the arms of lovers  
We live as we dream, alone'_

"Almost forgot, I brought you a present," He pulled a real estate listing from his coat pocket. "You like it?"

It was a four bedroom mini-mansion in the Garden District. "You mean the picture?"

"I mean the house!" he smiled.

"No, you mean the _picture_ , there's no way…"

"I hope those are tears of joy."

" _Liar_."

"Paid a holder's fee until I get the down payment, so I hope you like. This next job… I think I'll pull enough to swing it."

"How?" she asked. "That's more money than I've seen in my whole life."

"Money's the easiest thing in the world t' get, but that house wouldn't be anything without you. Just like me. Belle… I don't remember anything before the orphanage. That place was _hell_. No one in the world loved me until you. Most people take that for granted. They got folks that love 'em, but not me. Meeting you changed my life. After Jean-Luc took me in and taught me to pray, there was only one thing I wanted. That was you. I made a vow long ago that if I was ever lucky enough to marry you, I'd spend my life makin' you happy. I'm sorry I gotta be gone so much of the time, but it doesn't mean I don't miss you. You mean everything t' me and I aim to prove it."

* * *

By the end of January, he was gone and another man had returned to her life.

No one had the spine to tell her Julien was coming home. She found out when she caught Granny dusting his room.

Belle crossed her arms and said: "Good thing you're already _barren_."

Granny puffed up like a toad. Voice cracking, she whined, "What do you want me to do? Throw him out? _Murder_ him? My own grandson!"

The only one who'd kill for her was Remy and she wouldn't let it come to that. She never told him about the night Julien tried to violate her. Life with Remy was perfect, and she wanted it to stay that way.

She'd have to kill Julien herself.

It wouldn't be quick. Oh no. She wanted to cut off his dick and shove it down his throat. That would be _noisy_. Loud enough to wake her grandparents, so she'd sedate them first. She'd drug him, too, to make sure he slept through her preparation. He was too big for her to move, so she'd kill him in his bed.

The hardest part would be concealing her involvement. She considered burning down the house, but she didn't want to lose all her things and if she carried them with her, people would get suspicious… So she'd decided to dismember his body and carry it out bit by bit. She'd throw him to the gators. Without a body, no one could prove a thing.

She had the knife. Bags. Rope. Chains. Getaway car.

The poison was all she lacked.

No, not poison. Sleeping potion.

Why shouldn't she poison them? Because the police would perform an autopsy and discover foul play. And she didn't yet have the full support of the clan.

If not for Remy, she'd say the hell with it all and blow this town. Start over with a new identity. People did it all the time, didn't they?

" _The whole family perished in the fire but they never found her body."_ (They'd say.)

"Bella Donna," Granny came into her room. "Honey, you've been so quiet… Why won't you talk to me?"

It had been _months_ since she'd confided in her grandmother, and she felt like the moon and stars had been blotted out. Remy was a wonderful listener, but he didn't have Granny's grit or wisdom. Granny always knew when to laugh and when to fret; he always laughed. But Belle would learn to live without starlight. She didn't dare discuss the loss of her virginity or her murderous rage… Because Granny didn't love her. Only Remy loved her.

"Julien's coming home tomorrow," said Granny. "You have every reason to hate him… But he's _family_."

"So's Louisa! You didn't hesitate to throw _her_ away!"

"Do you want her to come home? If you think your _brother's_ bad, imagine _two_ of him!"

Belle seethed. "What a want is a _family_. With Remy. Can you give me that?"

She lowered her eyes. Belle thought she'd admit defeat and leave, but Granny quietly closed the door and said, "There's a way… A fertility spell."

" _How?_ "

"Ask Tante Mattie. But do it _discreetly_. You know how the Old Man feels about magic."

She didn't want to believe it. She wanted to believe her grandmother was manipulating her – just like everyone else had always done. But the hope burned bright despite her best efforts, and she found her icy resolve to eliminate her brother quickly melting. Tears flowed on her pillow all night. By morning, she felt lighter. The cage around her heart had broken.

He arrived on the 7 AM bus. Granny and the Old Man greeted him with smiles, but Belle stood back quietly.

He took a deep breath and approached her. "I know there's nothing I can say that's gonna make things right… But I'm sorry for what I did. My head wasn't right. I thought – I thought you were a shape-shifter _pretending_ to be my sister and the only way to set you free was to-" He stopped himself.

She coolly locked eyes with him.

"I'll do whatever it takes. Please, Belle. I've lost _everything_. My team, my scholarships, my clan… I can't lose you, too. It'll kill me."

His face flushed and she felt her eyes water. Julien _never_ cried. He furiously wiped his tears away and she bit her lip.

"And the _men_ you killed?" she asked. "Did you think they were shape-shifters, too?"

"No… But it was the only way I could vent my rage. It was you or them and I made the right choice. You shouldn't have been there that night. If LeBeau hadn't been with you, I wouldn't've attacked."

So he _wasn't_ sorry for what he'd done! A personal attack she could forgive, but he'd also hurt Remy. Three of his friends were dead and he might never have a family of his own. Julien had also made the Old Man look weak, which could've cost his life if Belle hadn't helped. _These_ offenses, she _couldn't_ forgive.

"I swear on our father's grave," she said, "that if you stay in this house one of us will kill the other."

* * *

Since she could no longer run to Remy, she spent her free time with her Guild girlfriends. (Well, Questa was as harmless as one of 'the girls'.)

Cheesecake. Mall trolling. Was there any better way to spend a Saturday?

Singer was a real Debbie-Downer because she'd recently embarked on her "tract of passage". She wouldn't discuss the details. When Belle flippantly remarked "the poor sap must've gotten away", Singer lost her shit. "Cuttin' down a soul ain't all you imagine!"

"Don't be silly," Questa said quietly, "She's killed at least _one_ person."

Yes, she had, but she wasn't eager to re-hash the awful details. Instead, she said: "What're y'all doin' after graduation?"

"My folks wanna take me out for dinner."

"No," she scoffed, "I mean _long-term_."

They realized they had no plans. Not one of them had applied for college or even considered it. Besides killing, they had no real-world skills to bring to the work force. The next year of life was hazy at best.

"We should take a road trip," Singer said. "Cross country."

"Just the three of us?" asked Belle.

"I'm game," Questa said. "If we start saving now, we'll have enough to rent a car and gas it. Take a map and just go wherever we want."

"Sleep under the stars," said Singer.

"Picnic at the Grand Canyon," Belle added. "It was always my daddy's dream to do that…"

"So it's a plan?"

"Yeah, I'm in."

"Me, too," said Belle. "Assumin' I'm not _married_ by then."

Singer rolled her eyes. "Don't think he'd wanna come, too?"

"If he's goin', you losers aren't."

Questa pulled his straw from his soda and stabbed it in the remainder of her cake.

…

 _To Be Continued…_

…

 **Author's Notes:** Do you remember Louisa's nickname for Belle? "Pixie". She has one for Julien, too – Poochie. I'm more sorry than I can say that I couldn't fit that into the story but our girl got a little something-something instead. And thanks to Sophia Coppola for turning me onto 'Gang of Four'. (Yeah, she reads my stuff, you didn't know?)


	4. Come and Find Out

"Watching a coast as it slips by the ship is like thinking about an enigma. There it is before you, smiling, frowning, inviting, grand, mean, insipid, or savage, and always mute with an air of whispering 'Come and find out'."  
-J. Conrad

 **Chapter Four: Come and Find Out**

On the sixteenth of February, she turned eighteen. Remy was still on his heist, so she went to see a movie alone. Since the date also marked the anniversary of her father's death, her Guild and family didn't usually celebrate, but this year they surprised her with a gift.

Her marriage contract.

They were to wed September 12th of that year. That was in… seven months.

 _Seven months!_

To celebrate, she was allowed to call Remy. That was when she learned he was in Europe. His voice sounded distant, but no less jubilant than she felt. After a brief call, she circled the room, singing _"I'm marrying the prince of Thieves! I'm marrying the prince of Thieves!"_

Granny dabbed the corners of her eyes and said, "Oh, to be young and in love again."

The merriment died away when Julien entered the room. Although he must've heard her declaration, neither said a word about it.

Her kill-or-be-killed oath still stood.

Her grandparents' solution was antiquated – marry off Julien. Within a month of his return, they had their girl and two weeks later, the pair wed. Emily was a penniless high school drop-out with a wandering eye and distant ties to the Guild. Everyone knew Julien was a serial killer who'd spent time in an insane asylum (well, not the cops but everyone else) but the name 'Boudreaux' still carried clout.

They married at the courthouse, honeymooned in Lafayette, and promptly moved into an apartment outside the city limits.

By contrast, Belle's wedding would be a lavish affair – the city's biggest church, its grandest hotel, a six-week European honeymoon, and a house in the Garden District waiting upon their return. When Remy returned from his heist, he made the down payment and showed her the house.

It was beautiful. Hard wood floors, detached porcelain tub, brand new kitchen. Four bedrooms, two and half bathrooms, and a fireplace.

"I hope you know this won't be like your father's house," she said. "I'll hang pictures. And tea towels."

"Don't even know what those are."

"They're little-"

"Save your breath," he stopped her. "At no point in my life will I ever need to differentiate between types of towels."

They checked out the bedrooms. One was smaller than the others and she sighed softly.

He looked around and said, "I guess this can be a storage room."

"It'll be a _nursery_."

"Chere…" He gave a pained look. "Don't even know if I want kids."

"Of course you do. Everyone loves a baby. Why're you any different? Be honest, to have a blood relative… You won't be complete without it. _Admit it_."

"I don't want you to think I'll be disappointed if it's just me and you."

"Hey, you worked your butt off to get us this house. I'll work my butt off to fill it."

There was the small matter of scar tissue in her uterus. When he left again in April, she decided to pay Tante Mattie a visit, but the healer suggested patience. Something about giving nature a chance to work and the price of fertility spells costing more than she was prepared to spend… Belle wasn't having any of her malarkey.

The Ministers of the Velvet Ministry had access to ancient and terrible powers. Protected by the Guild's benefactress, the Ministry had fallen out of favor in recent years. They were _obsessed_ with collecting and guarding information without ever sharing what they knew. The Guilds had no use for that. Belle knew the Ministers couldn't be bought, but everyone wanted something – if only their life.

She waited outside the library door until after dark. When a man came out, she grabbed his collar.

"We're going in," she said.

He struggled, but she was stronger and armed. Unfortunately, the collection was infinitely vaster than she'd expected.

"Fertility spells," she pressed the blade to his back.

He led her down a hallway and up a flight of stairs. The book he selected was leather-bond, but when she opened it, the pages were blank.

"You must take the _oath_ to read the books," he gloated.

"I swear never to speak of what I learn," she said. She pricked her thumb and pressed it to the page. Her bloody fingerprint vanished and a flurry of letters filled the book. "You Ministers aren't as _clever_ as you think you are."

"Candra will hear of this!"

Belle ripped out the page with the ingredients and combinations required. "Not if I kill you first."

He gulped audibly.

"Remember this," she poked him with the tip of her knife and left.

Some of the ingredients were easily found – dried oak leaves and blood of a menstruating woman. Others (clove and liver) she had to purchase. But one item, mercury extract, she couldn't find anywhere. She searched every pharmacy, store, and witchcraft shop in the city. All she got was strange looks. Exhausted, she shuffled her defeated butt home.

Candra was waiting in the living room.

Belle looked to her grandparents for an explanation, but their faces were perfectly unreadable. As benefactress, Candra needed no invitation to visit. So Belle swallowed her confusion and greeted the glamourous giantess.

"Bella Donna," said the immortal, "My, how you've _grown_. And soon to be a bride. To a _Thief_ , no less. I hear you tried your hand at it and miserably failed."

Granny and the Old Man looked stunned.

"Depends on your definition," Belle said. "Got what I wanted. I wouldn't call it a failure just because I got _caught_."

She smiled widely. "I'm disappointed you didn't come to me first."

So _that's_ why she couldn't find the extract. "What is it you want?"

"That's no way to negotiate." She pulled a small glass tube with a plastic stopper from her cleavage and held it between her two forefingers. She turned it back and forth, swirling the silver liquid from top to bottom and back again. "What are you prepared to do for this?"

"Who do you want killed?"

"See, that's why I _love_ you Assassins. So economical. So _honest_. Those bloody Thieves smile to your face while they're stabbing you in the back. And all day long they _hide, hide, hide_. An Assassin I can trust to _act_." She slipped the bottle back into her bra. "Minister Hogg."

The man she used to steal the spell; the one who'd ratted her out. That was hardly a chore.

"Good lord!" Candra said, "What if you'd been after something _dangerous_? He should've known his life isn't worth his job. Those Ministers think too highly of themselves."

The benefactress was only in town for a few days, so Belle was on a tight schedule. And just her luck, Minister Hogg had wised up. Slippery eel must've _known_ Candra wanted him dead; Belle had already let him keep his life.

"Only dead men keep secrets," she told him after she cut his throat.

Candra exchanged the vial for the page.

Not wanting to tempt another misfortune, Belle immediately brewed the potion.

"Don't use my good cast iron," Granny said. "The mercury will soak in and poison us."

She silently switched pots and kept working.

"You should've gone to Tante Mattie. Murder for a baby's a bad omen. Your child will be haunted."

"YOU should've sent Julien away BEFORE he stabbed me!"

Granny's thin lips nearly vanished in displeasure. "That can't get cold. Gotta drink it before it cools."

"Okay."

"Only good for a night."

"That's all I need." Except Remy was out of town. "Wait… one night after I _drink_ it?"

She nodded.

" _Shit_."

"Should've gone to Tante Mattie."

"I _did_! Like _you_ , she wouldn't help me! So leave it. If I leave it on the heat and let it simmer… Will it evaporate?"

She nodded.

" _Shit!_ "

Belle poured the concoction in a mug so it wouldn't scold her when she drank it. Smelled awful. Tasted worse. She'd never tasted anything so revolting. When it hit her throat, she gagged it up and had to swallow again. Her nose burned and her eyes watered, but it stayed down.

This was one of the _stupidest_ things she'd ever done. What _man_ had ever swallowed mercury to produce a child? What man had ever shared his body? Suffered childbirth? What man had ever shed tears over a natural cycle or bled to death over a botched abortion? When it came to creating life, the scales were tipped heavily to one side, but she would be proud to join their martyred ranks. To give Remy a child… _a son_ … It filled her with an otherworldly love. What _wouldn't_ she suffer for that?

* * *

The LeBeau house was locked up tighter than the Old Man's fist.

She knew Remy was on a heist, but Jean-Luc should've been there. That old fox! Between crooked card games, gambling rings, spy network, theft, and his collection of married paramours, Luc was often a wanted man. Somehow, he always stayed one step ahead of the hammer of retribution.

 _Henri!_ Yes, Henri would know how to contact Remy!

She got back on her bicycle and rode to the home of Henri and Mercy LeBeau. They'd thrown open the shutters of their classically styled Southern house and the walls inside had been stripped bare. Mercy's blonde pony-tail retreated – no doubt to grab a gun – while Henri leaned against the fence post. He was waiting for her. Belle _hated_ the Thieves with their unseen network of whispers that somehow moved faster than her bike. She might've decked the man purely for spite, but he was built like a Victorian strongman with the sweaty undershirt and handlebar mustache to boot. Punching Henri would only hurt her hand.

"Miss Boudreaux," he greeted, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Where's Jean-Luc?"

"He ain't home?"

She felt the veins in her neck throb with rage.

"Now, hold on, miss," he said lazily, "I ain't playin' dumb. If my father left town, he didn't share that with me. Surely there's something I can help with. Why don't you come inside, have a glass of tea? I'm about to have one myself."

As if on cue, Mercy arrived with his drink.

Belle released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "I need to speak to Remy. It's personal. I know he's on a _heist_ and y'all are super secretive about it, but this is _urgent_. And personal. I can't say more, I just _need_ to _speak with him_."

He looked anxious and confused.

"He isn't on a heist… Is he?" Her rage returned.

"I'm sure there's been a misunderstandin'," he said.

Suddenly, everything made sense. His frequent heists; his new sexual interests; his aloofness of their upcoming nuptials…

What an _imbecile_ she'd been.

What a fucking idiot.

The church was booked. The announcements printed. The caterer paid.

The only thing worse than this feeling of betrayal was everyone knowing she felt this way. That she'd been duped. That she'd been wrong and her family had been right about him. Besides, who would have her now? Everyone knew she'd given him her virginity. Her grandparents didn't _like_ the LeBeau clan, but they were considered family and anybody new would have to accept them, too. Who would bother?

But when she imagined taking vows with Remy… She felt the wrongness of it in her _soul_. She _could_ not swear to love him before God and her family. _Would_ not. She would rather die.

Then she realized the _awful_ humiliation she'd face and…

"Been quiet tonight." Granny remarked.

Easter Sunday, they were all gathered around the table. Ham and biscuits and gravy and collards. Emily had brought potatoes tonight instead of letting Granny make rice.

Belle forced a smile. "Fine… Just marveling over Em's potatoes. I didn't realize you were such a good cook. Now I know why Julien keeps you around."

Emily smiled brightly. "Butter and milk, that's all!"

Across the table, Julien watched her intently. She felt like he was peeling her apart like an onion.

"Why do _you_ keep _him_ around?" asked Belle.

 _Peel, peel, peel._

"First time in _months_ she talked about anything but the wedding," the Old Man said.

"Well, don't ruin it," said Granny.

"Only so much you can say about _shades of white_ ," Julien remarked. "Are you _wearin'_ white?"

His wife nudged him and whispered, "Stop that!"

"I'll get desert," Granny stood, walked into the kitchen, and came back. "Belle. Where's the cake?"

 _The cake!_ It had been her job to pick it up from the bakery, but in the drama of the day, she'd forgotten all about it.

"Oh, Granny, I-!" She covered her mouth and clamped hard on her emotions, but they boiled over and she ran from the table in tears. Upstairs, she hid under her bed and sobbed like a child. Why she laid _under_ instead of _on_ her bed was unknown. Perhaps she hoped it would fall and crush her.

When at last, all her tears were spent, she no longer felt heartbroken. She burned. White-hot fury raged inside her like the Holy Spirit.

She imagined him with some brown-sugar woman east of the Mississippi or a stripper north of Baton Rouge – just out of her reach but close enough for a weekend thrill. He probably had a key to her place. After a tussle, he'd tell her all the things he could never say to Belle… How his heist had gone down, how his tools misfired… But mostly she imagined he talked about _her_. Her demands and mood swings; how she was spoiled by her grandparents and bullied by her brother; her ignorance of chess and passion for the mindless brutality of football; how she smiled blankly at his intellectual jokes because she'd never read a novel in her life. His mistress must've sneered at their wedding announcement in the paper. She knew Belle's life was a lie before she did.

She picked herself up, gathered her tools, and made a doll with a strand of Remy's hair. Downstairs, the phone rang, and Granny called for her.

" _I'm busy!"_ she called back.

"It's Remy."

"I bet it is," she mumbled to herself. Louder, she said, "Tell him I'm busy!"

She stuck a needle in the chest of the Remy-doll. If he had a heart, she hoped it was broken. She had a sewing box full of pins and could've stuck him like a porcupine. Instead, she put one more needle between his legs.

 _Now_ she felt better.

* * *

In the morning, it occurred to her how much time had passed since she'd done _anything_ unrelated to her upcoming wedding. She struggled to find a distraction. It was Spring Break, so all her friends from school were gone on vacation.

"Let's go shopping!" She told Singer.

"I'm sick of looking at dresses."

She called Questa. "Wanna catch a movie?"

"Sorry, I have work."

So she went to the beach alone. It was too cold to swim, but it was something to do. Pacing the surf, she tried to imagine her life without Remy. She wanted to die.

At home that evening, Granny said he'd called and even come by. Belle only nodded.

"Mon chou… are you disappointed about the spell? There's plenty of time. I know you don't feel it now, but believe me, you have all the time in the world."

Belle didn't tell her anything. She couldn't tell anyone. Her pride and selfishness had trapped her here and if she was going down, she was taking them with her.

He came to her window after midnight. She knew he would and she'd left it unlocked. Tentatively, he stepped inside and was swiftly met with a round-house kick. Only her heel grazed his cheek – damn his Thieving reflexes! He dodged her right-hook, too, but grabbed her arm and wrestled her to the floor.

"What the hell's gotten into you?" he asked.

"Where were you?!"

"You wanna fight? Or talk?"

" _Both!_ "

"Try again." He still had her pinned.

She stopped struggling and sighed. "I _know_ you weren't on a heist. Where were you?"

"London."

He released her and she moved as far away from him as she could get.

" _Talk_ ," she said.

"Do you remember the lab in Canada I told you about? The client who hired me… he's a doctor who specializes in extreme mutation. I went to see him."

"Why?"

"Belle, for the last six months, my power's been off the charts. I can't always control it. I'm afraid someone'll get hurt. I'm afraid… I'll hurt _you_."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't wanna scare you," he smiled weakly. "You've been so excited about the wedding, I didn't wanna spoil that. And I know you've been plannin' a family, but I can't do that until I get this fixed. What if I accidently blow up the crib?"

"Don't think like that."

" _Someone_ has to! You're my family now. It's my job to protect you. I wanted to come back with everything fixed but Henri went and opened his stupid mouth."

"The doctor couldn't help you?"

"Maybe. I wanna get another opinion. He's talking about brain surgery and I don't want that if there's another way. So… sorry, but looks like I won't be fixed in time for the wedding."

"What'd you tell me? I love you for you, not your body." She wrapped her arms around him. "I thought there was another woman."

"Oh, hundreds and hundreds of 'm! But none compare to you."

She devoured his face with kisses. He felt so firm, so powerful – how could his health be in danger? Her body was braced for an eternity without him and now that he was back, she trembled helplessly. Silently, he carried her to the bed where they spent the night making love.

* * *

Belle failed all her final exams. When she approached the principal about options to bring up her grades, he scoffed: "Like I _wanna_ see you again next year!"

She didn't tell anyone the school fixed her grades just to get rid of her. It wasn't like she needed college, anyway. Everyone knew she was getting married in the fall; Remy would provide for her. And he was _so_ proud. Graduation would likely be her highest intellectual achievement… she couldn't bear to tell him that she'd gotten it by _default_.

* * *

Between days at the beach and dress fittings, she made Remy take ballroom dancing lessons. It was reassuring to learn he was as bad at dancing as she was at chess, but by the end of the summer, they cut a dashing pair. She, on the other hand, never learned to play.

The patriarchs of their families made valiant attempts to mingle. Marius and Jean-Luc gossiped worse than Granny and Belle _ever_ did! Unfortunately, their warm friendship didn't melt the icy tensions between their clans, but it meant the world to her that they were trying. She had grand plans for uniting the Guilds after their marriage – joint heists and more marriages – but Remy's interests were more _shortsighted_.

"Come on… I do it for you all the time."

"You don't have to."

"Can we just _try_ it?"

Rolling her eyes, Belle knelt down while stroking his cock. She could feel him watching her – waiting. It couldn't be worse than cough syrup, right? She swallowed that all the time. Closing her eyes, she parted her lips and took him in her mouth. He groaned. Her tongue gently caressed his sex and she realized how ridiculous she'd been. His penis didn't taste any different from his neck or his nipples and she'd sucked those. Slightly more comfortable, she sucked a little and bobbed her head to imitate the action of intercourse. It wasn't very fun, but he seemed to enjoy it.

Her teeth scraped him and he hissed. She rather liked that. She did it again and gripped his balls. This time, his thighs shook and he held her head like a safety bar on a roller coaster ride. But he didn't ask her to stop. No matter how hard she squeezed and scraped, he never begged mercy, and when he came, it was the loudest orgasm she'd ever given him.

Swallowing was the worst part.

"I can't believe you did that," he grinned lazily and wiped her chin. "I can't wait to marry you."

She smiled. "Lay down."

They snuggled together in his bed and within minutes, he was drifting. Nothing put him out faster than sex. It hadn't taken long to learn that. Although he was always eager to please, sometimes her body had a mind of its own. Tonight he'd given her a full-body massage and slowly built her climax. She'd _wondered_ at his attentiveness, that rascal! It was hard to deny him a favor after he'd dedicated so much effort to her pleasure, which was the point, of course.

In the stillness, she listened to his breath deepen.

"Remy?"

"…Hn?"

"Can I go to Paris with you?"

His eye peeked. It was to be his last heist as a bachelor, weeks before their wedding, and she wasn't dumb enough to think he'd abstain from a final temptation. Not that she minded. They'd been together since childhood, so he'd never been with anyone else. If he was going to step out, this was the time to do it – before the wedding but too near to back out – and she'd prefer it happen as far away as possible. She didn't begrudge him one last _hoorah!_ But she had a dreadful feeling about this job. And since she knew she couldn't talk him out of going, she hoped to tag along.

"Don't be silly." He stroked her hair. "If you're with me, who's gonna finish the seating chart?"

She held him close. "I hate it when you go. And I don't know why but I've got a bad feeling about this one. I'd feel better if I could be there to keep you safe."

"You're nervous because you've never known a thing about my work before. Now you know. But I'm a professional, chere. Trust me."

…

 _To Be Continued…_

…


	5. Regrets

"Droll thing life is - that mysterious arrangement of merciless logic for a futile purpose. The most you can hope from it is some knowledge of yourself - that comes too late - a crop of inextinguishable regrets."  
-J. Conrad

 **Chapter Five: Regrets**

The week of the wedding, gifts poured in – pearls from Aunt Ruthie in Charleston and a portrait of her father from Uncle Gerard in Atlanta. Touchingly, the Old Man had Remy formally added to the family record. The heart-warming gifts were quickly forgotten in the flood of grandeur from the Guilds. Candra sent curtains made of cloth of gold and silver. Tokyo sent a tea set; Moscow, a fur coat. Others: his and hers Rolexes, monogrammed silverware, a diamond necklace with matching bracelet, Chippendale cabinet, Tiffany lamps, crystal glasses, a Persian rug… Romania sent mink gloves, which was wonderful, but when would she ever use them in New Orleans? That was hardly the least practical gift.

' _Beloved Paris Guild,_

' _I am overwhelmed by your generosity for the occasion of my marriage. What home would be complete with an ivory potpourri vase? One formerly housed in Versailles, too! And the gold in-lay egg holders are sure to be used every Sunday!'_

A tattered envelope arrived from Montana. First she checked for money; then she realized someone's gift must've been delayed and they were sending apologies.

' _Dear, beladona_

' _i knew you're father. he was a good man'_

Good lord, the handwriting was insufferable! The gift came when it came. She couldn't be bothered with excuses.

All her problems vanished in the whirlwind of wedding bliss. If Granny was quieter than usual, she didn't notice. If Jean-Luc was suddenly encouraging them to postpone, she didn't hear him. If Julien kept asking about Remy's female acquaintances, she couldn't foresee why.

"Sure you don't mind me going out?" Remy asked.

Belle held the phone with her shoulder and rolled napkins. "This is the last night of your life you don't have to ask. Enjoy it."

He smiled. "Henri and the cozes have something planned. What're you doin'?"

"None a'ya business. See you tomorrow."

Truthfully, she was staying in. Her friends from high-school were busy with college now and her Guild friends didn't have party money. At least, that was their excuse. She couldn't help feeling like she didn't have any real friends beside Remy. So for lack of anything else to do, she stayed home and rolled silverware for the reception tomorrow.

"Looks like rain," Granny said that morning.

Belle was particularly beautiful that day – one benefit of an early night. "Rain's good luck."

"Rained the day your parents got married," she said ominously.

"Stop bein' gloomy!"

They arrived early to do hair and make-up in the safety of the church, where everything went wrong. She'd forgotten her strapless bra, brought the wrong size curlers, and couldn't get her blush to blend. She was already on the verge of a meltdown when she heard her mother's voice.

"Pixie? Oh, baby doll, you are _beautiful_!" She looked away dreamily. "Not as pretty as _I_ was. That's why your grandparents burned all my weddin' pictures, but everyone remembers. Ask the Father. He said so himself, I was a vision from heaven. Prettiest bride the city would _ever_ see…"

"You and Daddy eloped in a whorehouse. Did you escape the home?"

"It was a _friend's_ _house_! And no, I've been granted a 24-hour furlough for my daughter's weddin'. Guards are waitin' outside... You don't have an industrial file by chance?"

So her in-laws would get to meet loopy Louisa in all her splendor. _On her wedding day_.

"And I thought this day couldn't get any worse!" she sobbed.

"Pre-weddin' jitters," Louisa said. "I'll get the groom, that'll cheer you up!"

"No, that's-! …Bad luck."

Julien barged in, Granny hot on his heels.

"You can't keep me from her all day!" He shoved Granny back and slammed the door. "Belle, you wouldn't listen. But now I have _proof_!"

She folded her hands and listened, figuring it was better to let him speak his peace here than during the ceremony.

He shoved papers at her. "Here! Look! A necklace called L'Etoile du Tricherie – the Cheating Star. Stolen in Paris from socialite Genevieve Darceneaux while your soon-to-be-husband was there!"

"We know what he does for a living."

"How d'you think he got it? D'you think he just _asked_ real nicely?" He showed her a picture of a smoky-eyed temptress. "I'd say you should ask her, but she's _dead_ now."

"You're insane."

"You're _retarded_! He's been screwing every tart from here to Istanbul and _you're_ the only one who doesn't see it!"

She raised a brow. "You done?"

"I'm taking this to the Old Man. _Someone_ around here's gotta see reason!" He turned, stopped, and said, "If Daddy was alive, he wouldn't give you to that slimy Thief. He'd gut 'm. That's a _real_ man would do and you know it."

Emotion built in her gut and kicked her in the face, but she wouldn't cry. Not now. She'd already applied mascara. A few minutes later, the Old Man appeared to escort her out. She didn't know what had happened to Louisa or Julien. Hopefully someone had locked them up.

"You're a vision," he said softly. "LeBeau is a very, _very_ lucky man."

"Thanks. You look good in a suit."

"Yeah, your grandmother says so, too. I can't wait to get it off. Wouldn't wear it for anyone else but you, chere." He shuffled nervously, as if he were about to deliver bad news. Then, he smiled suddenly. "Ready to get this show goin'?"

She took his arm and they walked together to the closed doors.

"Wait till you see what Luc's wearin'," he smirked.

She did a double-take. "Since when do _you_ care about _his_ clothes?"

"White. Like he's Colonel fuckin' Sanders."

Laughter exploded from her mouth as the doors opened and everyone rose to their feet. She dragged her grandfather down the aisle, throttling riotous laughter with a wide grin. It was the first time in nearly two days that she'd seen Remy, and he soon captured her full attention. She hoped they would never be parted for so long again.

As her grandfather gave her away, she noticed his tears. She'd never seen him cry before.

Then Remy was there – strong, confident, handsome.

"You're gorgeous," he whispered.

"It's for you," she whispered back.

The thin veil between them reminded her of the sheets they hid under as children when the fantasized about this day. Her head swam. Vaguely, she heard the long sermon, the music, their traditional vows. When at last they were declared married, she realized every crease of her body was damp. How much worse he must've been in his suit.

Arm and arm, they strolled away with happy smiles.

Julien was a blur on her peripheral, but she saw his fist in stunning clarity. Remy was ripped from her side so harshly that she dropped her bouquet.

"The Thieves' Guild – _je crache ci-dessus!_ I spit on you, LeBeau! And on your _clan_!"

The crowded church fell still and silent as a collective corpse. All eyes, including Remy's, watched Julien.

"You going to lie there until I go away?" he taunted. "That's the Thieves' way, isn't it? You're not fit to marry an Assassin!"

It felt like a dream until Louisa said, "Why're they fightin' over _me_?"

Belle never dreamed about Louisa.

Her brother challenged her new husband to a duel to the death. Julien insulted the Thieves Guild and every clan in it – Remy was honor-bound to accept. Stupidly, her family was honor-bound to take Julien's side. Like they _always_ did. It was beyond stupid. Everyone knew who the superior fighter was, and after Julien killed him, everyone would know he'd killed Jean-Luc's favorite son. He could've slaughtered him on the sly – he'd done it before. But Julien _wanted_ everyone to know. After this, he wouldn't have to hide behind the mask of 'the French Quarter Killer'. He'd be Julien Boudreaux: serial killer.

Ever seen a centipede corner a cockroach? Julien was the arthropod – faster, stronger, bigger, and more vicious. Remy stumbled around like the disoriented beetle. At one point, he tried to crawl away. Julien stabbed his calf to the floor. Remy turned, kicked him away, snatched the dagger out of his leg and blindly hurled it. By chance, it sunk between the Assassin's ribs. He looked down at the glowing dagger handle before it exploded, nearly blowing him in half.

The tense truce hanging between the clans snapped. Shouts became shoves, shoves became punches. Louisa's guards, who weren't keepers of the peace but _nurses_ , escorted her away. Belle pushed her way through the mob to Remy. Using her body as a shield, she tried to help him escape. He kicked and pushed her away.

"You've done enough!" he snarled.

Hurt and confused, she scrambled away, her dress now bloody and torn. Jean-Luc and the Old Man stood to the side, coolly watching the scene unfold.

"It was a fair kill," Luc said.

"That's debatable," her grandfather replied. "Clearly, the truce is in tatters unless you offer recompense."

Even though it was mortal combat, there were still rules to abide. Remy using his mutant powers – even accidentally – was like bringing a gun to a knife fight. The Assassins would never forgive this.

"Wait!" she said, "Hear me out! If you let the clans vote, they'll demand his life. What will that get us? More bad blood with the Thieves, that's all! Send him away. The Thieves will have no cause for retaliation and Jean-Luc will be in your debt."

There was fire in his eyes when he said, "He'll take you away from me."

"What God has joined together, let no man tear asunder. Julien should've _listened_ to that."

Tante Mattie and the other women were working fiercely, but he'd lost too much blood. No salve was going to put his organs back in place. His face was white and slack. Belle waited for a feeling of horror or despair that never came. The world was better without him; no amount of dutiful love could change that.

Remy, too, was being tended, and with a much better prognosis. She went to his side, but he again threw her off.

"You!" he spat, " _You_ did this? Exile from _New Orleans_?"

"I… I meant it for the _best_. I thought-"

"That I'd be better off if I lost everything but you and the air I breathe? Spoiled little princess. What do _you_ know about going hungry? About living on the streets? I must've had a death-wish to fall in love with you!"

She stumbled back into the strong chest of his brother.

Henri's blue eyes softened. "Why don't you go home, miss? Your grandparents are gonna need you."

But she refused. They'd _always_ sided with Julien over her, and now they could deal with the consequences. If he died alone and in agony, she didn't care. She'd leave his corpse where it lay and never speak of him again. They'd created this monster and she refused to comfort them through the grief he caused.

Instead, she went to their home in the Garden District. They weren't due to move in for another six weeks, so there was no power. She sat alone in the dark waiting for a husband who never showed. This wasn't how she imagined her wedding night.

After midnight, Questa's car pulled up.

"The Old Man called Candra," he said without preamble. "Your brother _lives_."

"Then Remy doesn't have to leave! The truce stands! Do the Thieves know?"

He shook his head, "Julien died and came back. His soul's been corrupted… Your grandparents ain't tellin' folks because they're sendin' him back to the home. Better for people to think he's dead. Besides… If Remy stays, your brother's gonna find a way to finish the job."

"He'd rather be _dead_ than hungry and homeless," she said firmly. "Can you take me to Luc's?"

He drove her there, but the house was empty.

"He's probably takin' a train."

So Questa drove her to the train station, where she spotted Luc's car. It was late and this confrontation would likely be a long one, so she sent her friend home.

Luc met her outside. "I wouldn't go in there, petite."

"That's because _you've_ never been in love."

She stormed into the station, but when Remy saw her, he only looked livid. She steeled herself and approached him. "You don't have to do this."

"You won, Belle. You and your clan. I'm leavin'."

She shook her head. "Julien's not dead!"

"You've seen him?"

"No, but-"

"You're as stupid as you are pretty. What other rumors are you gonna hang on my life on? Did it ever occur to you that _I'd_ kill _him_ if I ever saw him again? Bein' your brother ain't enough anymore. I'll kill him and be glad to do it."

"Stop it! This ain't you."

"Let's be honest, Belle, you never knew the first thing about me. If you had, you wouldn't've told the Old Man to send me away. You're only here because you don't wanna go home. You think I'm gonna ride in on a white horse and carry you away to a magical world where we eat rainbows and pay bills with our love. I'm not a wizard and I'm not your meal ticket."

"No. You're a _coward_. I hope I never see you again."

She walked away with her chin up. He had to have the last word, so she let him have it. She never heard what he muttered, anyway.

* * *

 _One Week Later…_  
"Ain't seen hide nor hair of Emily since before the – you know. I bet my bottom dollar she's got something to do with this." Granny ranted.

Belle was helping her make Julien's bed while the Old Man helped him bathe. She doubted very much Emily ever had any control over Julien. His bride must've realized what his grandparents refused to see: he poisoned everything. They thought they could cure his sexual violence by giving him a wife. They thought Belle could marry peacefully because they commanded it. And now they thought that if they ignored Belle's vows, she would forget them, too.

 _Never_.

"Have you thought about what you're gonna do with all those gifts?" asked Granny. "Ain't right to keep 'm."

She looked her grandmother in the eye. "I'll check on the stew."

Gone were the days of ham and salads and deviled eggs. Now they needed quick meals that Julien would eat: soups, pasta dishes, gumbo.

She spooned a bowl, let it cool, and took it upstairs, where she found her grandparents in disarray and her brother half-dressed.

"I'll feed him," she said.

They quickly retreated.

His wild eyes bulged from his head as she neared. A couple months ago, this would have frightened her. Nothing scared her anymore. She blew on the stew to cool it and brought it to his lips.

"Smells like frog's breath," he said.

"I wouldn't know. I've never kissed a Frenchman."

He smiled, snickered, and then laughed.

"Come on," she said. "Another bite."

Once it was all gone, she wiped his mouth. He grabbed her hand, gently, and looked deep in her eyes.

"The molecules… You'll watch them, won't you?"

"Always."

He nodded absently. "Time… It lies to me. I can't tell anymore. But you'll tell me, won't you?"

"Of course."

She held his gaze as his eyes lost focus. His body went slack. Slowly, like a sack of uneven potatoes, he fell over. A moment later, she heard two muffled thuds. Her grandparents had fallen asleep at the table. She made sure they hadn't fallen in their stew and then called Questa and Emily.

Earlier in the week, she'd visited Louisa. The toothless biddy was the only person in the whole city who didn't pity Belle. She was the only person who didn't whisper behind her back and inquire sadistically about her _feelings_. As if they'd ever cared! No, Louisa only cared about one thing and that was _herself_. Belle found it refreshing to have a new name and new set of problems – if only temporarily. With exceedingly little work, she managed to get something useful.

"I'm having trouble sleeping. Pills don't work anymore."

Louisa smiled and sang an old tune, _"'B' is for the bark of a graveyard tree. 'E' is for the essence of poppy seeds. 'L' means lightly, lightly stroke the flame until it's spritely. 'L' is a little more of virgin blood that you must pour. And cook it into a broth or stew. Then wait an hour or maybe two. Two! times I'll say it. Here's your chance, don't mislay it. 'Bell' is easy even for you."_

Belle pulled a four-inch industrial strength file from the sole of her shoe and slid it in her mother's waistband. Louisa hugged her and swayed, wept and kissed her for three long minutes before Belle finally pulled away.

"When will I see you again?" When Louisa got no answer, she said: "Give 'em hell, Pixie."

"Back at ya, Pixie."

Questa and Emily arrived quickly and together. She couldn't have managed this without them, but Questa hadn't wanted to get involved. Only after she threatened to expose his secret little habit did he agree. Emily, however, wanted this. She hadn't been at the wedding because Julien had given her a shiner and she'd moved out.

The three of them tied him in zip-ties, rolled him in a rug, zip-tied the rug, and then carried him out like a giant burrito. They lifted him into the bed of the Old Man's truck. When the dogs heard the ruckus, they barked in excitement.

" _Shut up!"_ she hissed.

Of course they didn't listen. Why hadn't she anticipated this? She quickly glanced around but none of the neighbors seemed disturbed, so they quickly climbed in the truck and drove out of the city.

Questa sat awkwardly in the middle; Emily, in the passenger seat. Belle drove.

She kept waiting for him to stir – like that sickening scene from 'Goodfellas' – but he slept the whole ride. Off the paved road, they bounced for several minutes. It was dark and she was driving off instinct, not sight. Her friends squirmed anxiously. At long last, they arrived at a pre-dug grave.

"Go back up the road," she handed them each a flashlight. "You'll find two bikes. Just stay on the road until you're back on the highway. It'll be slow goin' but you'll be home before dawn. No one should miss you."

Questa scrammed but Emily lingered. "Sure you got this? He's strong, even-"

"I got it. He ain't goin' anywhere."

After another slight hesitation, she followed Questa.

Alone at last.

She checked the grave and saw the coffin was still at the bottom. Getting it down on her own had been a bitch. She considered waiting and having Emily help, but she wanted all her strength for the fight ahead.

The moon was just a sliver in the sky, so working mostly off starlight, she laid out her tools. She cut away a portion of the rug so she could see his face. She didn't know how long the sleeping drought would last, but when he awoke, he'd likely suffocate on the rug. A peaceful death wouldn't do.

While he came to, she stretched.

He screamed and she knew some part of his addled brain realized his predicament.

She leaned over him, so he couldn't miss her face. "You fucked with me for the last time, brother."

A meat hook pierced his right shoulder, breaking tendons and muscle. The hook in his left shoulder got stuck – maybe a bone. She'd brought a small rubber hammer specifically for this, and used it to drive the hook through. He shrieked so loudly she _knew_ they could hear him in the city.

Bungee cords tied to the hooks on one end; on the other, they connected to a homemade plow harness. She strapped the harness around her chest and walked towards the grave. She'd carefully measured and mapped this many times over. With ten feet of cord, she had plenty of leeway to get around the hole before she pulled him in. Her biggest concern was whether or not she'd be strong enough to _move_ him.

Finally, the slack pulled tightly. Moment of truth.

In his panic, he'd been writhing, trying to loosen his bonds. But the movement helped destabilize his weight, and she was able to drag him from the truck to the ground. His cries were truly pathetic. If she'd had any heart left, she would've pitied him.

She picked up speed as he neared the grave so that he fell quickly, cleanly, and in a direction she could manage. Then she cut the cords and threw the excess into the river. His cries were muffled now – by agony and by the walls of his grave.

He leaned forward, nearly sitting up. She shut the coffin lid and he kicked it off. She shut it again and again, he kicked it off. Third time, she jumped on the lid. Even restrained, he was as strong as an ox. He kicked the lid so that she bounced like a kitten on a trampoline. Wielding a nail gun, she shot at the lid. Some nails hit the sides; others went through and pierced him. His kicks waned.

Exhausted, bloody, and bruised, she climbed out of the grave and struggled to catch her breath. She was burning up. The bayou screamed back at them. The hardened dirt beneath her drank her sweat. And as shrill as cricket chirps, she dimly heard Julien cursing her soul.

If she didn't force herself to move, she would fall asleep.

Her whole body stung as she stood. The shovel felt like it weighed a ton. Slowly, the dirt began to move from the pile to the hole. Julien's voice faded and she began to sing.

" _I don't wanna wait for our lives to be over. I want to know right now, what will it be? Doo-do-do-do-doo."_

She buried her tools with him. Except the shovel, of course. That went back in the bed of the truck. She couldn't take it, although she didn't know how she'd travel without it. Luckily, she had a king's ransom in wedding presents that were about to flood the black market. She'd get by somehow.

The only one she didn't sell was the letter from Montana.

' _Dear, beladona_

' _i knew you're father. he was a good man. we trained together before you kids were born. i know you're mother wasn't the woman he wanted to marry. you must have questions. i'm here for you if you ever need me._

' _you're friend, panama jack'_

Well, Mr. Jack was needed, and she'd hold him to his offer. She'd determined to drive to Montana and train as a Master Assassin. She'd learn to get by on her own two feet. No one would ever hurt her the way the Old Man and Julien and Remy had done. She refused to allow it.

The radio stations interrupted music to announce Louisa's escape. Pointless. She knew her mother couldn't survive on her own for long. Like a monster from a fairy tale, Louisa sustained on attention. Even bad attention would do. Without it, she'd die. She'd run back to the home if they didn't catch her.

Finally, a song. Don Henley. Her daddy had _loved_ the Eagles. He used to tape their songs off the radio and bought a guitar to try and learn them, but never succeeded. She smiled at the memory. It made her feel a little less alone. Maybe all the hell she'd gone through was behind her, and she finally had an angel on her side.

…

 _To Be Concluded…_

…

 **Author's Notes:** All dads love the Eagles, right? My dad's favorite is 'Take It Easy', although Belle was cruising to 'The End of the Innocence', which was almost the name of this story. If your dad's an Eagles fan, send me his favorite.


	6. Epilogue

"We live as we dream – alone. While the dream disappears, the life continues painfully."  
-J. Conrad

 **Chapter Six: Epilogue**

Everything hurt. After a night scaling a sheer-drop cliff, all twenty nails were bleeding. Her face, breasts, knees and ankles bore the "road rash" markings of every slip. Bones crackled beneath her torn and burned muscles and every heart beat chanted "ow, ow, ow". But she was alive. Which was more than her mark could boast.

Her tongue ran over a freshly broken tooth, the jagged edge carefully mapped in her mind. It was oddly comforting to wreck her own body; reassuring that _she'd_ inflicted these wounds, not anyone else. In the end, he'd gone out confused and pleading for his life. He hadn't tried to fight her. The coward's face flashed before her eyes every time she closed them, but she didn't ponder this. Questioning things, she'd learned, only made her move slower. Better to blindly follow orders and instinct.

Panama Jack, her mentor, wasn't at the tent when she returned. She pulled water from the well, stripped down, and dumped buckets of icy cold water over her head. Even in August, Montana sometimes saw snow. This was the land man forgot and she wished it'd vanish from the earth's memory, too. Then she toweled off, dressed, and collapsed on the sleeping bag that comprised all her worldly possessions.

"Hello?"

It was hot. She threw off her sleeping bag and her arms felt like nails had been driven through them. Then she was freezing.

"Anyone here?"

She pulled on a huge coat and stepped out. Two police officers – young-ish white men – stood outside her tent. One of them stood by the cruiser, radio ready in case of trouble. The sun was setting and the officer nearer her pointed his flashlight in her face.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" She asked, mouth broken and stiff.

They exchanged a glance and the nearer one said, "Miss, we received reports of squatters in this area… You alone?"

Her jaw felt like a catcher's mitt. "Camping a crime?"

"There's a freeze advisor in the area. They're calling for seventy below. Nothing living can survive that without proper shelter."

"I'll manage."

He sighed. "There's a shelter in town. We'll give you a ride. It's a hot meal and free bed. No questions asked. In the morning, you're free to go again." He paused. "You alone?"

She accepted their ride to the shelter, where other homeless folk were congregated. The policeman lied. Meal was luke-warm and the bed was somehow worse than the ground. Some Bible-thumpers were hosting the co-ed slumber party and seemed keen to save her from an "obviously abusive relationship".

"What day is it?" she asked.

"Thursday."

"No, what date?"

"November tenth."

"Oh." She'd thought it was August. "What year?"

Bible-thumper looked bewildered. "I think you need a doctor."

"I just need a Tylenol."

Some man carried his violin and played all evening. No wonder he couldn't get a job – he sounded awful. The same bloody tune over and over. He should've pawned it for a meal. Then, at least, it would've done someone some good.

Her fever spiked overnight. Damn thumpers wouldn't bring her anymore blankets. They left her to shiver so violently that her teeth cracked. Someone – a woman – took pity on her and held her, trying to keep her warm or still, one of the two. She said how bad her withdrawals had been but they weren't fatal.

"Go 'way, Louise," she chattered. "Dis ain't about you."

By morning, her whole body had locked up. They tried to throw her out, but she couldn't move.

"Miss, if you don't leave, we'll have to call the cops."

The cops arrived and called an ambulance. Under the name "Jane Doe", they gave her a bed, shots, and an IV. She felt better than she'd felt in ages. Sleeping parts of her brain awoke and she began to think more clearly. Had Panama Jack survived the freeze? Had a wild animal made sure of their tent? She needed to flee – quickly – before the cops started asking questions about her injuries. Unfortunately, she'd been chained to the hospital bed. She wouldn't be going anywhere.

Every half hour, a friendly nurse came by and asked questions. She said they were waiting on Belle's labs – they thought she was a junkie. Belle never said a word, but continued to indicate her discomfort with the straps.

"Look, it's a free bed," the nurse snapped. "I can turn on the TV. Later today you'll get lunch and if your labs come back clean, you can take a hot shower."

Why did everyone put such a high price on a "free bed"? And what on earth did she need the idiot box for? She had no money for their consumer products, anyway. The lunch was wonderful, though – club sandwich with French fries, green beans, and sweet iced tea. She ate like a queen. Afterwards, she swallowed her pride and asked for more fries. The nurses were shocked. They hadn't expected her to buckle over salted potatoes.

Hopeful that they'd finally made a break through, they called a social worker. She was a tough old bird who looked like Aunt Bea and talked like Dirty Harry. Belle didn't make a peep. She didn't even smile. Dirty Bea didn't lose her cool. Instead, she made herself at home in the chair by Belle's bed and they watched the idiot box.

Belle's head was swimming with an inner-ear infection. She found it easiest to lay still and kept drifting in and out of sleep. The monitor beside her beeped and regularly screamed for no reason other than to wake her up. Even if it didn't malfunction, the nurses entered hourly. She heard, through her dreams, Dirty Bea scold them: "I'm with her. She ain't goin' nowhere. Leave her be!" And then, later: "Her labs came back clean." "How'd she get those abrasions?" "Our job is to patch her up… Let the police sort out the rest."

"Granny…" She mumbled.

Dirty Bea stroked her hand.

Belle woke, blinked the sleep away and looked at the television. The news was on. Typically, she had no patience for those talking heads spewing whatever spin the powers-that-be demanded, but tonight aired her worst nightmare. Shots of New Orleans water-logged and flooded flickered on the screen. Black body bags lined the filthy streets. Pictures of doors with strange markings flashed over Anderson Cooper's narration.

"…over a month since Hurricane Katrina battered the city of New Orleans and as you can see, it's still a city coping with the damage… His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales was the latest world leader to visit the French Quarter…"

There was a still-frame shot of the befuddled old man standing in what appeared to be an endless warzone.

"'Where there's life, there's hope'…"

She couldn't remember the last time she'd cried and backlogged tears overwhelmed her.

"It's awful," said Dirty Bea after the segment changed. "They say the city will never be the same. Bodies floated up from the cemeteries. Schools shut down, some forever. They say they'll have to start over build from the ground up. And all those people who couldn't get out… I've never seen anything like it. In _this_ country."

She left the room and returned with a nurse. Belle's shackles were unlocked and the nurse silently left a box of tissues.

"Is there someone you'd like to call?" asked Dirty Bea. She offered her personal cell phone.

Belle knew it wasn't a good idea. The social worker would have a record of Belle's people _and_ Belle would owe her a favor. But how long had it been since she'd seen a pay phone? The hospital wouldn't let her call out, either. She didn't see any other option than to accept the cell.

After five rings, the answering machine picked up.

"Hi…" she croaked. "Granny. Old Man… It's me."

The machine cut off.

Dirty Bea took her phone back but left it on the stand. "Maybe they'll call back."

"Why're you doin' this? Don't you have a family waiting for you to come home?"

"Don't you?"

They returned to watching TV in silence. At some point, Belle drifted back into a dreamless sleep, and was disturbed once more by the doctor. She stared blankly as his questions. "How'd you get hurt? How do you feel now? Who can I call to pick you up?" Dirty Bea also watched this man get flustered over nothing. Finally, he said she had multiple infections and fractured bones that would heal on their own. They were releasing her with a prescription for antibiotics and pain pills. She had no money for medication, but it wouldn't be too difficult to find someone to buy her scripts.

"It's gonna be another cold one," said her loyal companion. "I'll give you a ride to the shelter."

"Why? You don't owe me."

"Because if I _don't_ , some lonely, bad-tempered man _will_. Montana's a long haul from New Orleans. How long's it been? _Months?_ Come on, honey, I don't even know your name. But I know you got family back there. What's so bad you can't go home? I know it ain't drugs, so what is it? A man?" She paused. "A woman?"

She shrugged.

"Look, if you wanna go back, I'll help you find bus fare. Promise me you won't go turnin' tricks."

She smiled, thinking _'You wouldn't be so eager to help me if you knew what I did for money.'_

There was a knock at the door and a nurse entered with two men in dark suits. She introduced them as detectives who said they'd like to ask some questions. Dirty Bea was none too happy, but she was allowed to stay. Again, Belle ignored their questions. "What's your name? Where do you live? What were you doing the night of November ninth? How'd you get those injuries?" Finally, they said, "Let's see if you're more talkative at the station."

"You can _not_ arrest her!" her companion argued. "She's a _victim_ , for crying out loud! _Look_ at her!"

"M'am, we'll take it from here-"

"Don't _'m'am'_ me, Hollins!"

Belle removed her IV, which was her final tether, and jumped the closest detective. His firearm was easily accessible at his side. In a flash, she shot his partner and then him. She fired three rounds at the window, shattering it.

"For _once_ in your life, _think_ before you act!" The social worked shouted.

Belle looked down the sheer seven story drop. She _really_ didn't want to have to climb anymore, but this was the quickest and easiest route.

"Please… don't do this…"

She stole a coat off one of the detectives and began the torturous decent. Her nails felt like they'd been set on fire. Going down was easier than going up, and two stories up, she jumped and rolled on the snow. She'd been able to maneuver away from the shattered glass, so luckily, her feet weren't cut to shreds, but her bones felt brittle after the impact. The hospital alarms blared. From her broken window, she saw Dirty Bea's head watching her. Belle limped around the corner, where the social worker couldn't see, before she crawled under an ambulance. The truck cranked and sped away, eager to escape the bureaucratic and time-consuming nightmare of a lockdown. After several red lights she figured they'd gone far enough and rolled away from the underside of the truck.

Behind a grocery store, she found a dumpster where she spent the night.

The sun didn't bring any warmth. She found a passable ensemble of clothes from a charity donation bin. Shoes were the hardest part. The weather was too cold for sandals; her feet hurt too badly for heels; _and_ she needed a matching pair. A set of too-small, worn white tennis shoes accompanied her flannel shirt and tattered jeans. She looked homeless, sure, but not like a recently escaped hospital patient. Maybe it'd buy her enough time to get out of town.

She had to leave. Fast. That required money.

Jay (that was the only name Belle had) was Panama Jack's agent. Jay set up the contracts; Belle and her mentor executed them; Jay collected and paid out. Until today, Belle had never _seen_ Jay. She'd always waited outside while Panama Jack slipped in to collect.

Needless to say, Jay wasn't pleased to make her acquaintance.

"I deal with _Panama Jack_ ," he said.

"You deal with _me_ now."

He reached under his desk and she leapt away just in time to miss a buck-shot to the face. The wall behind her had been punctured. She rushed him, got his gun, and beat his face with the heel. His buddies were running nosily up the staircase. She rushed to meet them at the door, blasting away as quickly as she could rack the shotgun. The rear-guys decided not to test their luck and ran away.

The cops would be coming soon. Someone would've heard the gunfire and reported it, so she had to move fast.

She opened his desk drawers and file cabinets, expecting to find bank account numbers or checks. What she discovered was cash, gold bars, and diamonds. Handfuls and handfuls. With barely a moment to contemplate, she immediately started stuffing her pockets. She was dizzy with excitement; delirious with joy… Some of that might've been her fever, but this was still exciting!

Then she re-loaded the shot gun and exited off the fire-escape. And not a moment too soon. Jay's buddies had called in back-up and they were burning rubber on the street below.

They rushed in and she dropped down as quickly as she could manage. Then she blew away the look-outs, stole a car, and sped away like a demon. The light ahead turned yellow, so she punched the gas again and flooded the engine. As the car stalled to a crawl, two police cruisers rounded the corner, passed her, and chased after the pair of Lincoln's that had suddenly made an illegal U-turn.

She watched them leave in disbelief. The light turned green, she cautiously proceeded, and then drove the exactly speed limit until she hit the highway. Laughter, hysterical and wild, erupted from her lips. She'd really done it!

' _Welcome to Wyoming'_

"Kiss my ass, Montana!" she shouted into the highway gust.

Her first stop was a pharmacy, where she bought Tylenol and cold medicine. Her second stop was a shopping mall, where she had a smoothie and bought a new wardrobe. The clothes (and cash) went into a duffle bag. Then she ditched the car on the side of the interstate. Sure enough, someone saw her walking and pulled over.

"Was that your Thunderbird back there?"

"Yeah," she shrugged. "Overheated. Can you drop me off at the Flyin' J's? It's just the next exit."

Of course he could.

"Be careful, miss," he said. "There's a lot of bad people out there. You shouldn't be out by yourself."

"Maybe I'm one of those bad people," she replied.

It was getting dark. And cold. The nearest bus station was twenty miles out and she didn't want to risk the journey on foot alone and at night. But there was a motel nearby, and after an argument and a bribe (they only accepted plastic), she got a room.

After fourteen months, she finally had a hot shower. Her groans of pleasure no doubt carried through the thin walls, giving her neighbors the impression of some erotic activities. But no. It was only a scalding hot shower. She ordered a pizza, watched the news, and fell into her usual dreamless sleep.

" _There she is."_

" _I see you."_

" _We should strike her now."_

" _I see you."_

" _Wake up, bitch!"_

"I SEE YOU!"

She jerked awake, damp with sweat even though her breath formed condensation in the air. Terrified and confused, she rushed outside and the small Wyoming town was now an endless wheat field. In the distance, the wheat bent from side to side as if a giant snake or alligator was rushing through. And it was headed for _her_.

She turned and ran. Beneath her achy feet, the ground was inconsistent – soft in some places and hard the next. The stalks slapped her legs.

Suddenly, the field was above her and she was falling into a thunderstorm. Then the field was below her again and she crashed into it. She scrambled to her feet and away, but she was running towards the reptile. She turned but now the left was right and right was left and she screamed in frustration: "Fight me like a man!"

The beast reared up. It had hardened skin and elongated teeth like a gator, but the flexibility and strength of a serpent. At its full height, it was over twelve feet. Its demonic black eyes pierced her soul. Black eyes didn't frighten her.

"Brave words for a murderer," it hissed. "Make peace with your Maker. You'll meet Him shortly."

"I am as He made me."

"You _kill_ for _money_!"

"I kill for _vengeance_! And I'm the very best at it. Why else would you have to resort to sorcery?"

With a booming laugh, the monster and field faded away. The ground became soft and sticky like quicksand, which isn't really _quick_. She sank to her knees and would sink no further. One didn't drown in the mud, the greater danger was-

Rapids. A rushing, violent flood had been unleashed on her. She snapped back like a twig, completely overwhelmed by the powerful tide. She surrendered her broken body back to the universe and felt the pain subside. She surrendered her pride, which broke when she wouldn't let it bend. And then she realized she _wasn't_ drowning. She was still in bed.

" _I see you,"_ he taunted.

A man was standing at the foot of her bed, eyes shut and arms out-stretched. She leapt up and snapped his neck.

"I see you, too, asshole."

She quickly packed her things. It wasn't safe to stay here now that Jay's powerful friends knew where she was. Duffle bag in hand, she ran to the parking lot. The plan was to find Sorcerer's car and hot-wire it till she could get a bus ticket. But he had two friends in his car and when they saw her, they mounted an assault.

"Oh, shit!" she dropped the bag and ran.

"Where ya goin', sweetheart?"

They followed her and boxed her in. The motel was at her back. A tall, tattooed man stood to her right; on the left was an enormous fellow built like a freight train. She attacked the tattooed man, hoping to quickly over-power him and make a break, but no-neck snatched her up and covered her mouth. Like a child with a doll, he carried her back to the motel room, where they saw their friend's corpse.

They were furious. Although the big guy could've easily crushed her skull, they took turns beating her.

"Sick a' hurtin' my hand on this bitch!" snarled the tattooed man. "Hold her."

The big guy pinned her arms painfully behind her back.

Tattooed man held his palms up to her and the plasma flash temporarily blinded her. When it hit her chest, it felt like acid and electricity. Her inhuman scream gave him great delight, and he continued with such ferocity that she tried to break her own arms to get away.

"Slow it down, dude," said no-neck. "Gotta give her time to _feel_ it."

He waved his hands menacingly while she trembled bug-eyed like a Chihuahua. His palm glowed and her terror erupted with her dinner.

"Oh, dude, gross!" No-neck loosened his grip slightly, just slightly, and she seized her chance.

She lunged forward, he caught her wrists, and she kicked behind her like a donkey. Right in the jewels. He went down hard, dropping her. She went down on her hands, back sprang up, and kicked the tattooed man in the face. Half-blind, she literally reached out for anything and grabbed the box-set TV. She slammed it over no-neck's head and tried to lift it off, but it had jammed. So she ripped off the antenna, snapped it in half, and stabbed the tattooed man's eyes. He screamed and ran until he tripped and fell.

"Please!" he shouted to no one in particular. His hands were held out defensively. She wrapped the lamp cord around his neck and strangled him. It took longer than she expected but she was happy to wait.

No-neck, who hadn't moved since she'd dropped the TV on him, was dragged into the tub. She turned on the water and then threw the hair dryer in. It caused the whole motel to black out.

She exited the room, picked up her duffle bag, and limped to their car.

The sound of a slow applause caused her to hesitate. Heels clapped against the concrete as someone approached from the dark. _Candra._ The seven foot immortal who supported and controlled the Guilds emerged with a smile.

"Well done, Bella Donna!"

She stared in stunned silence.

"Okay, this is the part where _you_ say something."

"C-Candra?"

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "He clearly didn't marry you for your _quick wit_. Yes, it's me, darling! The last twenty-four hours has been your tribute, and I must say, even I'm impressed. Twelve in twenty-four, that's the rule."

"Trib… Tribute?"

"Thieves get the longevity, Assassins get the power. That's the deal we brokered. And since you defeated… Oh, what were their powers..? Astral projection, plasma blasts and… super strength, that's right. Did you forget? Or do you enjoy making me look stupid?"

"Sorry."

"I forgive you. And I'll bestow their powers to you. How's that sound?"

She nodded.

"Well, let's make sure. We had the detectives at the hospital, that's two. Jay and five of his henchmen, that's eight. Then _these_ three buffoons that's… Oh, geez, that's only _eleven_. Tell you what, I'll give you an easy one to wrap this up." Candra snapped her fingers and Panama Jack appeared, bound and gagged. "Kill your mentor and we'll call it a success."

His blue eyes were dark with fear, but she saw no hope of mercy.

"The man who trained you," Candra said. "Loved you like a daughter. Gave you everything he-"

Belle grabbed his grey hair, pulled back his head, and slit his throat. Jugular blood shot out and sprayed both women.

The immortal flinched. " _Jesus Christ!_ In the middle of my speech?! _In the middle of my speech!_ You have a _lot_ to learn about being a super villain, blondie!" She wiped away blood, shaking her head and mumbling, "Ruined a perfectly good monologue. Anti-climactic, that's what that is."

"Wait!" Belle cried. "My powers?"

"I had a speech prepared for that, too, but since you're little miss impatient-" She snapped her fingers.

Three specters, ghosts of her mutant attackers, rushed towards her. She fought her impulse to flee and felt them sink into her body. Their incredible abilities graphed to her chromosomes, altered her genetic make-up, and sparked a fundamental revision. She felt her spirit expand. Sub-atomic particles were no longer concepts but things she could control and manipulate. Thoughts and dreams were no longer private, but weapons she could project. Physical superiority was no longer an obstacle but her domain. _This_ was the reason she'd sacrificed so much, suffered so much, and worked so arduously… Finally, she had something no one could take away.

…

 _The End._


End file.
